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It’s not like we haven’t had our differences before. If he really thinks I’ve fucked up with her, though … that’s a different story.
I’ve had enough confrontation for one day. I throw the door open and get out. My duffle is in the trunk; with the click of the key fob, it opens easily enough.
It took me all damn day to find a suitable place to rent close by, to get out of my lease, to schedule the movers and clear out the motel. If I had control like I’d prefer, she would have been beside me.
I spent half the day in the fucking car rearranging my life, and my best friend wants to give me shit over it. I know Ella needs to be cared for. I only left because I trusted him to do just that. Heaving the duffle over my shoulder, I’m more confident tonight than I was last night. I have everything we need for now. I can take it over from here, within the confines this situation allows.
I head for the door instead of dwelling on it any longer. Long, even strides. Like I belong here. Which I do. Ella wants me here, and that’s all that matters. What doesn’t matter is the prickling under the collar of my jacket and the way my nerves go cold. Seeing her feels so damn flimsy now that I’ve left The Firm.
Yes, I crossed professional boundaries with Ella. Yes, I did it over and over again. But at least when I was at The Firm I was guaranteed my nine-to-nine shift with her. I could count on it. Now it seems tenuous. One step out of place, and they could lock me out. Move her to a secure location. It’s a fine, fine distinction. Any hint from her that she doesn’t want me around, and they could escort me out.
It feels as if we’re caged in. That’s what each step feels like. Like I’m walking into a cage. The only saving grace is that she’s in there with me and so long as I’m there, she’ll be safe.
Staying calm for her is what anchors me to the ground. It’s not a very sturdy anchor. This kind of visiting, where I don’t really belong with the company and I don’t really belong to Ella, makes me feel like I’m on the deck of a small ship caught in a storm. The waves seem reckless in my imagination.
My thumb runs down the sharp edge of the key, a key only given to me when I worked with The Firm. Staring at the doorknob, I focus on why I’m here.
I want her and she wants me. It’s as simple as that.
The moment I open the door, the warmth greets me just as the bright light from the kitchen does. Slipping the handle of the duffle down my shoulder, I set the bag down and gently close the door.
Damon’s eyes come up from his phone to meet mine from where he’s sitting on a stool by the counter.
The realization I’ve come to is simple: there’s no chance in hell for privacy here.
“You look like hell,” my best friend says.
I run a hand over my head. “I have a lot on my mind.”
Damon nods, then swipes his thumb over his phone screen and puts the phone in his pocket. From the way he presses his lips together I know he’s got things on his mind too.
“I got your text,” I tell him, dropping the bag and tossing my keys on the counter. “How is she?”
The question falls into the quiet of the kitchen. Damon huffs out a breath. This is close to how it would be if we were trading off shifts, but I’m not working with him anymore. This is a problem that will keep coming up between us until we solve it. Awkwardness tightens my chest and squeezes the air out of my lungs. Our routines are all wrapped up in The Firm. It’s like pricking yourself on the same splinter at the back door of your house. Hurts every time, but until you sand down the wood, make it all right, it’ll never let you rest.
His dark eyes meet mine. “I thought that after what happened, she might withdraw. Close up. I was prepared for the scenario where we’d have to start all over with her therapy and with her trust. But she opened up this morning … I think it would have benefitted her to have you here.”
“Where is she?”
“Taking a shower now.”
“I’m going to go over our new arrangement today.” I drag out a chair at the table, taking a seat opposite him.
“What’s the plan?”
“I’ll stay here. Twenty-four seven power exchange. It’ll be easier to be honest, now that I don’t have shifts where I’m done.”
“Staying here?”
I don’t hide my dismay. “We don’t have a choice.”
