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“Let’s get out of here,” Paul said. “What do we have to take care of first? Also, it’s freezing in here. You didn’t have to worry about the expense of the propane, this was an emergency.”
Grant’s head snapped up. “The expense of what the hell did you just say?”
“The propane. The heat. You used the generator, didn’t you?”
Grant counted to ten. “No. Remember, Paul, you don’t have a damned generator,” he said in a low voice, near conversational. “I’ve been telling you for a year to get one. When in the frozen-over hell did you get a generator?”
Paul had the grace to look abashed for a millisecond, Grant saw with satisfaction. Paul could apologize until the cows came home, but he lacked the sincerity that made humility ring true.
“Oh hell, man.” Paul squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m sorry. Shit. We just had it installed a couple months ago for situations like this. It’s under the back deck. The transfer switch is in the coat closet.”
Grant’s eyes locked on Paul’s. Keep it together, Samson. Remember you’re already going to prison for kidnapping. Don’t add murder charges.
“I woke up every two hours to keep the fire going,” he said through clenched teeth. “I collected snow in your damned beer steins so we could drink water and make food, and flush the damned toilet. Melinda slept in her clothes and your stupid fancy jacket! We were freezing in here! No, you didn’t tell me about the fucking generator!” Yelling was helpful; it took his mind off the pain that awaited him.
“I’m sensing some frustration,” Paul said delicately, and Grant leapt to his feet. Paul didn’t flinch. He knew Grant better than that, unfortunately. But it would have been nice to scare the overgrown elf for a second.
“I’m getting my stuff and then I’m out of here,” Grant growled. “Hire a housekeeper to take care of the rest. Turn on your damned generator and watch a damned movie.”
“Fair enough, fair enough,” Paul said, all amiability and easy condescension. “Happy to. In fact, why don’t you go home, get showered, and I’ll take care of things here.”
“Perfect,” Grant bit out, and stalked behind the futon to collect his bag. He checked that his phone and the infernal phone charger were inside, then walked to the bathroom to grab his toothbrush. The bowls from breakfast awaited him in the kitchen. Who cares? Let Paul melt snow to wash up for a change.
He scanned the bedroom for evidence of recent relations. Melinda had smoothed the comforter across the bed enough that it didn’t look recently tumbled. Grant hoped he didn’t either. There was nothing more embarrassing than carrying on as if you had the moral high ground and later realizing your ass was out the whole time.
He slowed and stopped. Maybe she’d forgotten something here, something he’d have an excuse to bring her. He checked beneath the bed, on and in the bedside tables, and under the chairs. Nothing. Dammit. If he contacted her, it would have to be because of the truth.
And what was that?
He stared at the bed and saw her sitting there, bravely laying her heart bare to him. He remembered the way she’d turned on a dime, desire somehow ignited, and taken him on the adventure of a lifetime. He saw her naked and laughing, naked and moaning. He saw her unselfconscious passion for food. The woman was insatiable. She was also amazing. He pinched the bridge of his nose.
Footsteps sounded. Paul.
“You come back here to cry?” Paul asked.
“Go to hell,” Grant said, eyes still on the bed.
“That heartbroken?” Paul prodded.
“We have to get out of this room.” Grant was grateful to Paul for not asking why. Paul wasn’t truly a pompous ass. He just played one really, really well.
Grant returned to the den armed with his pack and toothbrush, but the urgency to escape had passed. Maybe he could hang out for a few minutes more. He chose the same lounge chair as before and sat.
Out of his sight, Paul might have raised an eyebrow, but Grant didn’t care. Paul moved fluidly across the den to sit and stare candidly at Grant.
“You have my attention.”
Grant couldn’t help a rueful smile. That was Paul being warm and fuzzy. “I think I met someone,” he sighed.
Paul nodded. “So I surmised. What happened?”
“At first it was awful. Actually, no, at first, it was...chemical. When I picked her up at the airport, it was on. And I was freaking out because I thought she was Melisa and that I was into your girl. I felt like dog shit.” Grant tugged at his shirt collar.
When he told Paul about how he had raised the partition, his friend inhaled sharply, but to Paul’s credit, he said nothing. Grant told him about how he’d received all the texts at once and realized his colossal mistake. His stomach was acid. How could he have been so stupid and so brutal?
“It took me some doing to get her into the house.”
“And you gave her my revolver. You do know it’s kept empty, don’t you? Did you load it first?”
