He didn’t worry about it.He’d gone without sleep for three days before.In fact it was part of covert ops training.Forty-eight hours was no big deal; he’d sleep when he got safe.
Then Harding got into the SUV, ordering Chadwick into the passenger’s seat because in his words, “My heart isn’t as young as it used to be.”The minute he turned the key, Joey’s head hit the seat rest and he was out.
HE AWOKEtwelve hours later, on the fully made plain wood bed he’d seen pictured in the pamphlet when he’d leased his apartment.He was in the T-shirt and briefs he’d put on two days ago, but his jeans and hoodie were neatly folded and hanging on the chair at the foot of the bed.His duffel sat on the chair too.
He had to pee fiercely, and he wasn’t sure where the bathroom was.
He sat up and peered around, wincing at the sterility of the room.The comforter was nice—tan and green—although he couldn’t remember purchasing one.Oh Jesus, he hoped there was toilet paper.
He spotted the en suite bathroom and toddled in to sit on the throne with a blessed, blessed sigh.
Toilet paper, he noticed with relief, and a freshly opened package in the corner.Towels—two new towels in navy that matched the navy-and-tan patterned rug on the floor—hung from the rack.
And there was a new bar of soap with only one or two rinses in the soap holder, and a basic men’s shampoo/conditioner bottle in the shower.
Oh God, he felt ripe and rotten.When he’d finished his business, he grabbed the clean, dry, matching face cloth that was hanging with the towels and hopped into the shower, wondering who his fairy godmother was.He’d been told the place would be barren and ready for him to move in, but someone—the Realtor?—had apparently thought to welcome him here.
How did he get here again?
He was still wondering that after his shower.He put on his last clean clothes and hung up the towels before emerging into the living space in his bare feet.
He saw takeout bags in the new trash receptacle by the sink and, following his nose, opened the small refrigerator to find orange juice, Chinese food boxes (half-full), eggs, milk, cheese, jelly, and lunch meat.On the marble counter he saw bread, apples, onions, and peanut butter.
After he pulled out the takeout cartons, he found a table service for four in the cupboards, the same in silverware in the drawer near the sink, and a brand-new pan, stickers still on it, on the stove next to a new chef’s knife and a spatula.
He was still pondering his good fortune when the microwave binged and he heard a snore, choked off midway, and he found himself in a crouch, looking over the kitchen counter to the front room.
Chadwick—all six-foot-something of him—lay curled up on Joey’s couch, a spare pillow under his head, a tan throw—as new as the bedding in Joey’s room—thrown over his lean and angular body.
He was scowling toward the kitchen.“Oh,” he said groggily.“You found the food.”
“You….”Joey was at a loss.“You bought me food.”Lightbulb!“And bedding.And towels.And dishes.Holy crap.”He no longer had exhaustion as an excuse for being an asshole.“Thank you,” he said humbly, still trying to digest it all.
“Harding and I went halfsies,” Chadwick mumbled, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.“What time is it?”
Joey swallowed and checked his new phone, which was plugged in and charged on the counter.“Five o’clock,” he said.“Is that a.m.or p.m.?”
Chadwick laughed.“A.m.”He yawned.“Harding brought me my laptop, I worked here.You were so out of it, we didn’t feel right about just leaving you in a strange place.I mean, it was bad enough leaving Crosby with his roommate.Felt like leaving a puppy in a wolf den.We couldn’t do that shit again.”
“This Crosby must be the second coming,” Joey muttered.“You haven’t shut up about him.”
Another dry analytical laugh.“Just not our usual,” he said on another yawn.“God, five?”
“Early?”Joey asked.
“I usually get up at six thirty.I got department-issue sweats in the bag and a department issue in your parking spot.Let me get another hour in, cop a shower, and we can go in together.Any questions?”
Joey hated to ask, he really did, but… “Washer/dryer?”
“Behind the screen in the hall.I guess you had them installed when you got the place, like the fridge.”
Joey grunted.“Sleep,” he said.“I may take a walk, but I’ll be back in time to wake you.”
“’Preciate it,” Chadwick said, another yawn seeming to pull him sideways on the couch, dragging the throw with him.
Joey spent a moment watching him, thinking about the kindness—for that had been what had driven Chadwick and Harding—he’d been shown.Part of him was trying to retroactively panic.He’d shown his throat!He’d let strangers see him vulnerable!He’d barely let guys from the unit see him sleep.His room in his father’s house had been a landmine—soda cans on strings, squeaky toys, coffee tables placed at shin height—all of it designed to not let his father sneak up on him at any time.
The first night he’d spent in his father’s house, he’d woken up with his father’s knife at his throat, because his father had gotten around all the booby traps Joey had set up before going to bed.
