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A few minutes later, I’m situated on her couch with a steaming plate of pasta in my lap.
“And a beer for my man.” Summer sets the sweating can on a coaster on the coffee table before bending to kiss my cheek.
Meanwhile, I’m basking in the glow of her using possessive language about me for the first time.
Muttering about utensils, Summer sets her plate and glass of wine on the table, then retrieves forks for both of us. When she settles on the cushion beside me, the couch is so small that our sides press into each other. This makes me want to get rid of my kitchen table, so we can spend every meal side by side.
Only, the second Summer tries to pick up her plate, disaster strikes. The edge knocks against her wine glass, sending red liquid spilling across the table, streams of it dripping onto her fluffy rug.
“Damn it!” Summer springs up from the couch, and I follow after, setting my food down on the counter and searching for a way to help.
“There’s some carpet cleaner under the sink in the bathroom!” Summer frantically waves me to go grab it while dabbing up as much of the spill as she can with paper towels.
Following her orders, I jog the few steps it takes to get to the only other room in the apartment. Crouching down in front of the vanity, I pull open the cabinet door and rummage through the different spray bottles. There’s a general cleaner, but I keep looking in case she has something particular for carpets. At my place, I make sure to have some on hand, seeing as how cats like to throw up in random places.
Just as I think I’ve found a promising bottle, my attention snags on a box pushed into the back corner of the cabinet. Seems like a strange place to store anything that’s not cleaning supplies.
I’m about to dismiss it when I register words written on the top.
Open if something happens to me.
Unease creeps down the back of my neck, freezing my blood and locking my body still. Meanwhile, my mind descends into a panicked whirlpool.
Something happen to Summer? What would happen? What could happen to the woman I love that would require her to keep a mysterious box hidden under her sink?
My joints practically crack as I flex my fingers, creeping them like spiders into the shadowy corner and pulling the box out. I stand, holding a spray bottle in one hand, and the ominous container in the other.
“What’s taking you so l—” Summer’s question cuts off. She stands framed in the doorway, stare affixed to the box, eyes going wide.
She looks terrified.
“Summer—”
“Don’t touch that!” Her voice whips out harsh, dripping with fear. She lunges forward, hands stretching to grab the container from me.
I don’t try to keep it away, but my grip doesn’t release fast enough. In the frantic fumbling exchange, the box falls to the floor, the top swinging open. The contents spill across the linoleum.
My brain, too worried over the reason for this box’s existence, hadn’t had time to guess at what was contained within. Still, I’m not sure the items tumbling out are what I would have guessed.
Newspaper articles. At least twenty of them, cut out of their original pages. Writing is scrawled, dark and thick over the stories. The urge to read the words, and my natural inclination to help clean up the mess I made, has me crouching down.
Summer yelps and dives to the ground, hunching over the papers and waving me away with frantic jerks.
“No! Don’t touch them!”
“Are they…important?” I can’t get a handle on this situation.
I’ve seen Summer unhappy. Hell, I kept her company on her worst day. But she’s acting like a cornered animal, lashing out in fear.
Is she afraid of me?
“No…yes.” She sucks in a shuddering breath. “Maybe.” One by one, her fingers pinch the corner of each article, picking them up like used tissues, and quickly dropping them back into the box she righted.
Despite the speed at which she cleans them up, I’m still able to tilt my head and read one. The title of the article mentions a shooting at a local park. The handwriting scrawled under the title makes my gut clench.
I can protect you.
Without thought, my hand extends toward the strange message, but Summer catches sight of the movement and grabs my wrist.
