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She slid off the bed, clutching the silver ball in her hands and scurried from the room.
“Shannon.” His bark stopped her in the doorway. She turned, barely catching a glimpse of his bare ass, before a wet towel hit her in the face. “There’s more on the floor in the bathroom. Wash them.”
She retreated quickly. Moving to the bathroom, she gathered up the wet towels and bath mat. She carried them to the washing machine that was set up under the metal stairs that led to the roof. She stared at the machine. She didn’t have a clue how to use it. Crash strode out of the bedroom, dressed in a pair of jeans and a tee and walked up the stairs and onto the roof. The door banged shut, and she stared at it. She had to make this right. And that meant she had to do something she rarely did.
Apologize.
Dropping the towels to the floor, she walked into the kitchen and grabbed two bottles of beer out of the refrigerator. She paused at the island for a minute, trying to come up with the right words, and perhaps, if she was being honest, give him another minute to cool down.
A few minutes later, she headed toward the roof.
She found him sitting in one of the chairs, his feet up, smoking his cigarette. Approaching him quietly, she held the beer out to him. He looked to the bottle suspended from her hand next to his right shoulder a moment, and she thought maybe he would refuse to take it. And then his hand came up, accepting the bottle.
She sat in the chair next to him. “I’m sorry, Crash. Truly I am. You’re right. About all of it.”
He flicked his cigarette, his eyes on the horizon, saying nothing.
She continued. “I had no business touching your things. This is your home.”
He took a pull off the beer.
“Crash, please, look at me.”
His eyes came to her.
“I don’t know if you’re more upset about the sculpture or-”
“I don’t want to talk about the damn sculpture.”
She swallowed. “I’ll fix the paperclips and put them back, I swear-”
“Yeah, right. I’ll believe it when I see it.”
She stared at him a long moment. “Please, tell me how I can fix this.”
He laughed and shook his head. “Some things you can’t fix.”
Shannon looked at the horizon, not knowing what to say. They sat there silently for a long time, and then Crash finally broke the silence. “They’re silly, I know. But those silly paperclips meant the world to me.”
She looked at him. His eyes were on the Bay Bridge. “Tell me, please.”
He flicked his cigarette over the edge of the roof and leaned back, closing his eyes. She thought he was done, and then he spoke, a slight smile pulling at his mouth. “She’s the one that started calling this place the Batcave. Except, my elevator went up instead of down, she told me. Cole helped me hang the support for those chains, and Angel brought the kids over to see it. Melissa took one look at the divider and said, ‘But Uncle Crash, you don’t have a door.’ When I replied, ‘No, sweet pea. I sure don’t, do I?’ she told me not to worry, ‘cause she was gonna make me one.”
Shannon watched him lift the bottle to his lips. Crap. She’d really messed up. She swallowed, looking down. “Do you want me to leave?”
He huffed out a laugh. “Don’t matter. You’re here. Deal’s done.”
“I could leave.”
He turned to her then. “And go where? Back to him?”
She closed her eyes a moment, and then looked away to the horizon.
“You’re not going anywhere, Princess. You’ll stay here until this guy leaves the country.” He rolled his head, facing the horizon. “But maybe we need to set some ground rules.”
“Ground rules?”
“Yeah. One. You will stay outta my shit, and keep your hands off my stuff. Two. You will keep your shit outta my bathroom. Three. You will do what I tell you, no complaints.” He rolled his head back to her. “And four. I reserve the right to add more rules as needed, or just because I fuckin’ feel like it. Agreed?”
