Page 31 of Jameson’s Salvation

“Why?”

“Because there’s no way in hell you’re taking a cold shower after the day you’ve had. Pissed as shit you’ve been doing it for a week and I didn’t know.”

“I was planning on replacing it tomorrow.”

“Well, it looks like your day just freed up.”

“You can’t buy me a water heater, Jameson.”

“Do you ever not argue?”

She stared up at him, stunned and clearly thinking about her answer.

“No.”

“Right. As long as you’re standing here, help me carry it in. It’s not heavy, but it’s awkward.”

“I can’t accept this. It’s too expensive.”

“Fine, write me a check for two hundred dollars.”

Kennedy smiled wide, thinking she’d won.

The check would be ripped up and tossed in the trash before he left her house.

But in an effort to get the new water heater installed so they could move to the second part of their evening, he’d agree to anything if it meant she didn’t argue.

10

Kennedy

I was taking a nice warm shower and I hated to admit it, but I felt better knowing that Jameson was downstairs. Earlier, when he and Weston had been in the house with me as I looked for something missing, I hadn’t been scared. I was pissed someone had been in my house. When Jameson told me he was leaving I didn’t think anything about it, until I was alone.

Then irrational fear had crept in. Irrational because I knew Weston and Jameson both had searched my house from top to bottom and no one was hiding under a bed waiting to jump out and kill me, but damn if it hadn’t felt that way.

I’d never paid attention to the creaks and groans my old house made. I’d lived in it my whole life, I was used to the sounds it made. But as I stood in my kitchen looking for something to make for dinner, debating what I was going to eat, every noise made me jump. Then I starting thinking about the fact my truck was still in town, which meant if someone did break in, all I could do was run.

So I opened my safe and grabbed my shotgun. Once the double barrel twelve gauge was within reach, I felt a little better. But not much.

Someone had been in my house. And what freaked me out more was they hadn’t stolen anything. At least nothing I could find. So what the hell had the guy been doing? I’d watched enough movies to know there was plenty of sick shit he could’ve been doing in the fifteen minutes he was alone in my house.

I finished my shower, grateful it wasn’t ice cold and quickly dried myself off and dressed. I took a look around my room. Nothing was out of place but I still yanked the sheets off my bed knowing there was no way I’d be able to sleep in them tonight.

I walked down the stairs and stopped when I found Jameson sitting on my couch. His ass was on the edge, his legs bent and spread wide, elbows on his knees, and his head was bowed. He looked deep in thought and when his gaze came up to meet mine, I knew I was right. He wasn’t masking the stark pain.

He lifted his chin in a silent question and I explained.

“I know it’s silly but I don’t want to sleep on sheets that a stranger could’ve…done stuff on.”

He nodded his understanding but said nothing. I spotted the unopened new bottle of whiskey sitting on the coffee table in front of him and wondered why he’d brought his own when I had plenty.

I didn’t inquire as I walked past him, through the kitchen and into the laundry room. I dumped my sheets into the wash, started the machine, and stopped to grab two glasses out of the cabinet. Then I made my way back into the living room.

I placed the glasses on the table and sat next to Jameson.

“Unless you wanna drink straight from the bottle.” I gestured to the glasses. “Which is cool with me, too.”

He uncapped the bottle, took a healthy swig, and passed it to me. I followed suit, my swallow not quite as healthy as his but enough for the liquid to burn down my throat and warm my belly.