Chapter 20 #2
I want to inspect his private space, but I curb the urge and examine the living area.
The walls are white, and I would be willing to bet that’s how it was when he moved in.
His sectional is a little large for the room, but it looks like something you could sink into comfortably.
The fabric is a deep shade of gray and looks velvety soft.
I turn slowly and spy the TV. It’s huge and takes up most of the wall above a console table that has a fireplace built into it.
“You’re so quiet.” Boone’s hands are in his pockets, making his shoulders seem high. He looks nervous, and it’s kind of adorable.
“I was afraid to open my mouth and breathe in all the dust,” I joke. He looks around, glancing at the corners of the room. “Tell the truth. You have a cleaning service, don’t you?”
One side of his mouth curls up, and he does a single shoulder shrug. “Worth every penny. In my defense, I forgot she would be here while I was away. There is also something I didn’t mention earlier.”
Oh boy, I can’t read the look on his face, but he almost looks a little nervous. “Well?” I prompt when he doesn’t immediately continue.
He grabs the nape of his neck and winces. “I don’t have a spare.”
“Spare?” It takes my brain a second too long to catch up with his meaning.
“I’ll take the couch. I fall asleep there most nights anyway. I just didn’t want you to think or assume I was—”
“You’re kind of cute when you’re all flustered.” His brow dips suddenly, and he frowns. “Don’t like being called cute?” I guess, still teasing him.
“I don’t think I do.” Boone sounds truly affronted.
It makes him even cuter, which causes me to laugh. “If it’s your virtue you’re worried about, I think I can manage to share the bed without taking advantage of you right away. We did pretty much sleep next to each other last night, if you remember.”
“Right away?” Of course he would choose to focus on my hopeful slipup.
I hold up my hand palm up in a mockery of a vow, but the sentiment is true when I say, “Or ever. I’m a consent girly, promise.”
Boone rumbles something under his breath that’s too low for me to hear, then louder, he adds, “It might have been a good time to tell you that I only have a twin bed.”
Shock hits me before realization that he has to be joking. There is no way someone of his size and stature would sleep in a twin bed. I won’t—no, I can’t believe it. “Liar, liar,” I sing.
“You considered it for a second though.” He seems proud.
“If that were the case, I would have taken the couch and left you to your little race car bed.”
Boone chuckles. “I wanted one of those so badly when I was little.”
I make a mental note to find out when his birthday is. That would be an awesome gag gift.
He shakes his head as if dislodging a memory and says in a more serious tone, “Make yourself at home. I have a few things I have to do.”
“Are you leaving?” The swell of unease catches me off guard.
“Not right now. I’ll just be in my office, but I will eventually. You aren’t going to make me worry you’re going to run off the minute I do have to leave, are you?”
“No.” My scoff is petulant and defensive. I just wasn’t expecting him to run off and leave me alone right away. To be honest, I didn’t think about Boone leaving me at all, and I know that’s dumb.
“I know it isn’t fair that I’m asking you to sit here and do nothing, but it’s the safest place for you while we get this sorted out.”
“If I was concerned about what was fair, then I wouldn’t have dragged you into this.”
“Can’t be dragged when I came willingly,” he counters, but he’s already walking back toward the office.
“Hey, can I… Do you have a tablet or something? It would be nice to have more than your clothes on my back.”
Boone turns to face me. “Let me talk logistics with Frank and our tech guys. They will know a hell of a lot more on how to avoid detection so we can keep your digital footprint light. The last thing we want to do is tell him exactly where you are because he got a text alert or email confirmation from any of your accounts.”
“That makes sense.” I sink into his sofa, feeling defeated yet again when I realize I still have no idea how deeply this psycho has tangled himself in my life. It makes me look at everything in a new light. I thought I was being so diligent before when it turns out I was clueless.
“If it makes you feel any better, I like you in my clothes. It’s cute.” He grins, as if he’s recalling me telling him girls don’t like being called cute and he’s doing it on purpose.
“Thanks for trying to make me feel better.”
“I wouldn’t say it if it weren’t true.” He tugs his phone from his pocket and lets out a little huff when he sees the screen.
“Relax, get comfortable. I’ll be out soon.
” He disappears behind the door to his office where I hear almost immediate mumblings that make me assume he’s on a call.
Part of me wants to go listen at the door, but a bigger part of me just wants to pretend my life hasn’t been flipped upside down in the last thirty-six hours.
I scan the room again, paying more attention to the details I overlooked before, like the silver-framed photo in one of the cubbies under his TV. I don’t even need to get close to know that Boone is in the middle and surrounded by women I’d be willing to bet are his sisters.
I peer down the hall, spying the closed door, and decide to get a closer look.
Most of the women have varying shades of blonde hair, but one is nearly platinum.
The fine lines on her face make her a more likely candidate for their mother.
The resemblance between them is there—while not in size, because Boone is at least a head taller than all of them, then certainly in their fairer features and how attractive they are.
Two of the three other women could be twins, aside from the fact that one of them is clearly very pregnant.
The last woman has her head resting on Boone’s shoulder, and she looks to be the youngest.
Grief is a funny thing and can hit you when you least expect it.
One second, I’m thinking how beautiful his family is, and the next, my heart is breaking because I know I’ll never have another photo with my family.
The last picture Hayzel and I took together was the day she left for school.
We were still at the ranch, still stupidly happy, even though we had only lost granddad a few weeks earlier.
We’d been prepared for that, though, unlike our parents and granny.
We knew he was sick and had been for a while, so there were no regrets.
I’d convinced myself that I’d met the loss quota for a long time because never in a million years did I think Hayzel dying could ever happen.
Sometimes I wonder if a thought alone is enough to tempt fate, and if I somehow caused all this because I assumed I knew what it felt like to lose everything, until I finally did.
I set Boone’s photo down carefully when the inevitable thoughts of why me surface, but it doesn’t stop them from invading my mind. Why does he get to keep his mom and all three of his sisters while I couldn’t keep one? What did I do to be the one left behind? Why didn’t I know any better?
Boone’s deep voice floats through the walls on a mutter I couldn’t understand if I tried, and I feel guilty, as if my thoughts alone could sentence him to the same fate.
For the first time in a very long time, maybe ever without prompting from my granddad or anyone else, I say a little prayer that Boone and his sisters never have to experience that kind of loss.
To distract myself, I slide the pocket door open with the intent to find the bathroom and maybe splash some water on my face, but the open doorway to my left snags my attention. I stop just short of entering his room but peer inside.
The walls are a cool, deep gray that seems to make the room a little darker, even though there is a pretty large window allowing lots of natural light in.
The bed is fairly low to the ground with no headboard, but there are two reading lamps on poseable arms angled toward the two pillows stacked up on one side of the bed.
Something about seeing the other side flat and unused gives me the nerve to fully enter the room.
I justify my snooping with the knowledge that Boone pretty much pawed through all my belongings—with good reason—and I’m only looking.
The table on his side of the bed has a TV remote and a small dish that looks distinctly like it was painted by a child.
A thought occurs. Boone said he doesn’t have a girlfriend, but we didn’t talk about history.
For all I know, he could have been married or even had kids with someone else.
The thought isn’t horrible, but it isn’t exactly welcome either.
I look over my shoulder to make sure Boone isn’t right behind me, then I make my way over to the little plate to get a closer look.
I take it as a good sign it doesn’t say #1 Dad or anything close, but I stop short of picking it up to inspect the bottom for an inscription. Another quick glance confirms there aren’t any personal photos displayed, and I feel like Boone would definitely have pictures if he had a kid.
I move over to the dresser and pick up the bottle of cologne to sniff.
He must have another bottle, because it’s the same musky scent I’ve gotten a little familiar with and certainly appreciated over the last few days.
To confirm, I lift the T-shirt I’m wearing to my nose before moving on to the other little trinkets left out—a pocketknife, a thick silver pen, several paper receipts, and a mason jar that’s near overflowing with loose change and small bills.
I could probably get away with opening the drawers, but I lack the desire.
I don’t know if I’m worried about what I would find or worried he might somehow know I was snooping.
After another lap around the room, I find myself sitting on the side of his bed, gazing out the window.
From this vantage point, it’s easy to forget I’m in an apartment complex just a few blocks from a downtown area because of the park-like grounds.
In the distance, I can make out the much taller buildings high over the treetops, but they seem farther away than a few miles.
One thing that is almost impossible to ignore is the near constant hum of low flying airplanes circling above.
It makes me wonder how long it took Boone to get used to it, or if the noise still keeps him awake at night.
I turn to look at his neatly stacked pillows, and the idea of resting my eyes for a few minutes becomes too tempting.
I almost feel guilty for using his pillow when the scent of his freshly laundered linens surrounds me, but that only last until I nestle my cheek deeper, and I curl my legs up.
I don’t know if it’s sheer exhaustion or the comfort of knowing no one besides Boone knows where I am, but I fall asleep almost immediately, and I do nothing to stop it.