Page 11 of Burning Bridges Duet

I freeze in terror for a moment, but my eyes dart towards Liam, who’s standing over her body, holding a knife. The sight of blood everywhere fills me with pure dread, and I feel my heart drop to the pit of my stomach.

“Dad!” I scream.

My eyes snap open as I’m still screaming, my body tense with panic. Struggling to catch my breath, I quickly get out of bed and head to the kitchenette for a glass of water. After taking a few deep breaths, I reach for my phone and see that it’s only five am on a Sunday morning. I tell myself it’s early enough to start my day, so I move to the bathroom to brush my hair and teeth, hoping to shake off the nightmare. Just as I slip into some long loungewear and head out of the bathroom to make myself a cup of coffee, a loud knock on my door startles me.

“Fuck,” I mutter to myself. Seems like I woke my neighbor again.

I approach the door, my heart racing with anxiety, and debate for a moment if I should answer the door, but ultimately decide to face him. After turning the lock, I slowly open the door.

“Hey, good morning. Is everything okay?” I ask, attempting to sound casual.

“I heard screaming again and wanted to check on you,” he responds, concern etched on his face, making me feel guilty for waking him up once more with my nightmares.

“Oh, it was just a bad dream again. Sorry for waking you up,” I say, cringing at the thought of burdening him.

Gunner nods, but still seems hesitant to leave. “Do you want to talk about it?” he offers, and I think about it for a bit before declining.

“I don’t, but the least I can do for waking you up again is offer you a cup of coffee,” I say, stepping aside to let him in. He hesitates for a moment before finally coming inside, following me to the kitchenette. I feel his eyes on me as I make the coffee.

As soon as I finish his, I ask, “How do you drink yours?”

“Black, please,” he answers, and I try not to smile. Figures. I turn to make myself another coffee with caramel syrup and milk.

“My mom made me a coffee snob. There’s no good day without good coffee,” I say before I can think better of it, regretting the words as soon as they leave my mouth. Once I have a handle on my feelings, I turn back to face him. He seems to notice my moment of sadness but doesn’t push, instead taking a sip of his coffee.

“Wow, that’s some good stuff. The big ass machine was worth getting up here,” he says, looking at the espresso machine box in the corner of the room. I can’t help but feel self-conscious about all the stuff lying around.

“Sorry about the mess,” I say, gesturing around the room. “I could say I haven’t had time to clean up lately, but if I’m being honest, I’m just a messy person.”

Gunner chuckles, waving it off, and gives me a small smile. “No worries, Liv. I’m not here to judge your cleaning skills.”

“I hope you like to stand while you enjoy your coffee,” I say with a nervous chuckle, realizing that there’s no place to sit except my unmade bed, since I haven’t assembled my desk chair. He smirks and looks at the boxes of furniture on the ground.

“What’s with the furniture? Have you not had time to assemble them lately, or will you admit it’s more likely that you’ll sit on the boxes than assemble them anytime soon?”

I laugh out loud, surprised that he has a sense of humor. He always looks so serious.

“Yeah, well, my bed is great at pretending it’s a couch or a chair, so I’ll just stick with it. But if you want to test out the box, you’re welcome to try,” I say.

“What do you do when you have friends over?” he asks.

“That’s not a problem since I don’t have any,” I answer honestly, shrugging.

He looks at me critically but doesn’t comment, just finishes his cup.

“Thanks for the coffee, Liv, and knock on my door if you need anything, okay?” he says, giving me a small smile before leaving my apartment.

I exhale a long breath, blowing a lock of hair out of my face. It’s early afternoon, and I’m sitting on the floor, trying to understand the instruction manual for assembling my new desk. I spent the morning studying and had planned to go to the studio in the afternoon, but I thought I’d better spend a couple of hours tidying up my small apartment after the embarrassing encounter I had with Gunner earlier. I even put away everything I brought with me or bought. The only thing left is to put together my TV stand, desk, and desk chair before trying to install the TV.

I groan. God, I was never good with working with my hands. I would like to do these things on my own, but at the risk of sounding like a cliché, I just never had to. My father did all this stuff. A pang of loss fills my chest. He would have had the furniture built in less than an hour. I soon realize that I need more tools than I have at home to do the job.

“Fuck,” I mutter and let myself lie back on the ground. A moment later, I sit up, startled by a knock on my door.

“What now?” I mutter under my breath, but I get up and approach the door. After opening it just a bit, I see Gunner standing there. He’s dressed in jeans and a navy Henley that accentuates his muscular chest, holding a toolbox in his hand.

“Hey,” I say with a raised eyebrow. “What are you doing here?”

He grins. “I can’t stand the thought of your poor furniture gathering dust in their boxes while I have these tools and functioning hands to help them out.”