Chapter 5
CHAPTER
FIVE
AND IF I WERE JUNI, I’D CHOOSE HIM OVER ME, TOO.
Sterling
The third one doesn’t quite hit like the second, and the second isn’t quite as crisp as the first. But either way, beer is beer. It numbs me nicely, as intended. Still, the plate of food and empty seat across from me are all I can focus on.
I made steak tonight, with Hasselback potatoes and roasted Broccolini. Dash likes “the fancy broccoli” better, so I make sure to buy it when I’m cooking for the both of us. I had to drive to Oakcreek for it earlier, in fact, since the Eat O Rama doesn’t have fancy stuff. I don’t know many roommates that routinely cook for one another, but I’ve never worried about what others do.
My eyes unfocus, envisioning him across from me, his forearm flexing as he saws through his steak. Instinctively I tug at the hem of my shirt, then fold my arms over my chest, sipping my beer. Even if I don’t feel physically self-conscious, covering my body sometimes makes me feel more comfortable, so I do, seeking comfort as I imagine watching him eat. Sinking the tines of his fork into a perfectly cut bite, his lips seal around the meat as he moans his appreciation. “So good, Sterl,” he says.
Rousing me from my curiously arousing thoughts, the front door opens. “Hey, man,” Dash greets. I twist in the chair in time to catch him unclipping his duty belt, still watching as he hangs it next to my coat. One easy shrug and he’s out of his Bluebell PD jacket, hooking it over his belt. Foot to heel, he toes out of his unlaced boots. He normally unlaces them on his drive home when he’s stopped at lights. He told me that the first time I asked why he came home with his boots untied. He’s eager to relax, and I like that.
I relate to that.
“Hey, how was your shift?” I ask, even though I’m wondering about the farmers market. I don’t think I can see the adoration and pleasure lift his eyes as he recounts seeing Juni. I’ll eventually get used to them being together, when it happens, and I’ll be able to talk to him about their life.
I will.
He clamps a hand on my shoulder while he moves toward the kitchen to wash his hands. After drying them, Dash unbuttons the top three buttons on his uniform and makes his way toward the table.
“Fuck, this looks amazing and smells even better, Sterl,” he groans, his voice raspy. He stares at the food a moment before finally looking up at me. “Shift was fine.” Gray eyes search mine, an uncomfortable knotting in my stomach at the way he pays me such intimate attention. “You already eat?” he asks, my gut tugging not from the mention of food but from his attention.
“Yeah,” I nod.
He nods too, taking a bite. “Missed you at the market today.” Not we or I or Juni . Just missed you. He picks up his fork and knife, cutting a thin strip of steak. Before taking the bite, he looks up at me. “Juni missed you, too.”
Wait, so, that means he missed me. And so did Juni. I want to ask him if she said those exact words, but just the idea of asking has my cheeks warming with embarrassment.
With potato and steak loaded onto his fork, he takes a bite, a delighted moan drifting over the table. As he chews, my gaze finds his jaw then his throat when he swallows. Wiping his mouth with the napkin I laid out, Dash smiles before taking a sip of beer. Lifting the sweating can, he peers at it, then me. “We drinkin’ tonight?”
I get lost in him for a second, forgetting he asked a question. Coarse dark hair peeks up from the collar of his undershirt, his jaw covered in a day of growth, and reality slaps me.
He’s just like her. He’s gorgeous. And the two of them make so much sense together.
And if I were Juni, I’d choose him over me, too.
This is the right choice.
“So,” Dash starts, stretching the word like taffy. He takes another bite, savoring the Hasselback potatoes in a few slow chews. Each pleased groan makes my cheeks tingle. I’m glad he likes dinner. Still, he eyes me.
I sip my now fourth can of beer, popping a second for him. “Yeah?”
“How come you didn’t come to the market?” Dash’s eyes hold mine, his veiny hands clenching silverware on either side of the plate, unmoving. He isn’t gonna take another bite until he knows.
“Well, that’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about,” I hedge, taking another pull of my beer that inadvertently finishes it. I crush it with my fist and reach for another, when Dash’s socked foot connects with my shin under the table. My eyes lift to his.
“Didn’t I text you that I wanted to talk?” he questions, the corner of his full lips lifting as he goes for another forkful of food. He brings a bite of steak to his mouth. “But you first. That way I can eat.” He dances his brows playfully before digging back in. I ignore his charm.
“Listen, I think it’s time that you go for it?—”
Someone whales on the front door so hard that the framed poster of Fenway rattles loudly over our couch. I cast my eyes back at the door, then toward Dash. “You expecting anyone?”
He swipes the napkin over his lips before crumpling it, dropping it to the table as he rises. “No, and never anyone who pounds on a door like that.”
On my feet, we move through the living space toward the front door. I’m about to crouch and look out the peephole, but the thudding sounds off again, this time followed by a soft whimper.
“Sterling, Dash, it’s Juniper.” Her usually gentle voice is flared with panic, lined with fear. “Please,” she begs, another thud, this time much less powerful, as if she’s losing energy.
I yank open the door and there she is.
Juniper.
My heart twists, nearly ceasing its beating in my chest as I take her in. I’ve never envisioned my worst nightmare, but seeing her like this, I think this is it. Acid crawls up my throat, and my lips tingle with a sick foreboding.
Blood streaked down her arm, spattered against her chest and chin, wisps of blonde hair framing her face, bottom lip wobbling, eyes rimmed red and dripping tears. At her sides, one of her hands is badly cut, blood dripping onto the WELCOME mat below her. It’s then I notice a golden dog sitting at her heel. One I’ve never seen before.
His lustrous flaxen coat is marred with heavy streaks of rouge.
“Juni,” Dash breathes, with so much concern and question in that one word that my chest clenches.
Reactively my arms come out as her eyes roll back, her knees fold, and she collapses.