Chapter Forty-Nine
Asher
Raine tucks the bottle of body lotion into her go bag like it’s a precious thing. It hits me then—how little of her life is actually hers anymore, and how hard she’s trying to reclaim even a small bit of normalcy.
“That’s it,” she says, her voice barely a whisper. “We can go now.”
“Not quite.” I open the dresser drawer and pull out a dark blue baseball cap and a pair of thick-framed glasses. “The car’s windows are tinted, but not enough to hide our faces from traffic cameras.”
She stares at the hat, reaches out, and brushes the brim with her fingers. “I…having something on my head…”
Shit.
“We can figure something else out. You don’t need to—“
“Yes, I do. Going outside as…me is dangerous. For both of us. It’s just…loud, and I have to recalibrate.” Her eyes go glassy, and she presses her hand to her chest. One breath, then another, and she shudders. “Glasses first. They’re quieter.”
I pass her the oversized frames, and she slips them on. For a moment, her shoulders lock tight. “Okay. I can do this.”
After a moment, she picks up the cap, stares at it, and takes a deep breath before settling it on her head and lowering the brim. “I hate that they did this to me. That I can’t even wear a hat without my nervous system turning it into a negotiation.”
I ball my hands into fists, shoving my anger and frustration down deep. I can’t fix this for her. Can’t take away the memories that haunt her every fucking day. All I can do is run logistics to keep us safe.
Raine shudders once, then picks up her duffel bag. “Waiting won’t make it easier. I’m ready.”
Outside feels bigger than it ever has before. Headlights flash too brightly, their harsh glare made worse by the storm that started an hour ago. Raine clutches the duffel to her chest like a shield.
“Two blocks down, one block over,” I say, keeping my voice even. Every instinct urges me to close the distance between us, to shield her, but I keep my hands loose at my sides. If anyone moves on us, I have to be ready.
“It’s…a lot. But I’m okay.”
I think she’s trying to convince herself as much as she’s trying to reassure me.
We walk side-by-side. I scan the street repeatedly, while she keeps her head down. The trust she’s giving me to keep us safe is a fucking miracle.
The long-term parking lot is quiet until I unlock the car and it beeps. Raine flinches, then steadies. But as soon as she eases herself into the passenger seat, her entire body locks up tight.
“I didn’t think about needing the seat belt,” she whispers. “Shit.”
“Take your time. The security camera for this lot is broken. No one can see us here.”
The reassurance seems to help. The click of the belt is deafening in the quiet of the car, but Raine gives me a tight nod. “It’s okay. I’m still here. Can you turn on the radio?”
“What do you want to listen to?”
“NPR,” she says. “Low. I always had it on. When I—when I drove.”
Fuck me. God only knows where her car is now.
The heater blasts us with warm air. Raine jerks, closes the vents on her side of the car, then grips the center console tightly.
The city opens up in front of us. Overpasses, hills, traffic. The worst of rush hour is over, but it’s still busier than I’d like. Lake Washington is a vast expanse of nothing to our right. The bridge feels like it goes on forever.
Raine keeps her gaze locked on the soft lights of the dashboard. “It’s too loud,” she says, her jaw tight. “Not the sound. The space.”
“I know. Can you press your heels against the floor mats?”
Her body starts to relax. Fingers. Arms. Shoulders. “That helps.”
Bellevue is all clean lines and money. The buildings are taller. Closer together. More glass and less…style. But the density will work in our favor. We’ll be harder to track.
“Almost there,” I say as I pull into a parking space only steps from the elevator. “We’re on the eleventh floor.”
She gives me a tight nod, releases the belt, and rolls her bad shoulder. “Okay. Let’s go.”
Raine
This new space is bigger. I can’t decide how I feel about it. Light gray walls, wood accents. An electric fireplace under the television. A couch and two accent chairs. Floor to ceiling windows.
And completely silent. No thud of footsteps from the floors above. No cars honking down on the street.
Asher sets the large duffel bag on a chair, digs through it for a moment, and finds the phone he designated strictly for music.
“Just need to connect this to the wifi,” he says.
I take two steps into the room, pause to let my nervous system catch up, and take two more. “One bedroom?” My voice sounds smaller here. Or maybe I’m smaller here.
“This place has two.” He’s crouched by one of the side tables, and looks up, at me, brows drawn together. “If you want your own—“
“No. I want…you. With me, I mean.”
Relief softens his gaze, while I’m left untethered by the heat flooding my cheeks. “It’s the first door,” he says. “If you want to check it out.”
Music spills from the sound bar over the fireplace, soft and familiar and unobtrusive. Just a steady, calm background I can sync my heartbeat to.
The comforter is fluffier. The towels too. And unlike the apartment we just left, it doesn’t smell like Asher. Or…anything.
The room tilts a few degrees as I take off my coat and sink down onto the bed. “You’re still here,” I whisper. “Nothing’s changed but the room.”
Water runs in the kitchen. A few minutes later, the scents of citrus and chamomile reach me. Tea. The same tea he’s made me for days now.
It’s enough my shoulders finally drop. Enough for me to set the new toiletry bag on the bathroom counter, then make my way back to the main room.
“Tea’s ready,” Asher says, bringing one of the mugs to the coffee table. “I still need to grab the cooler from the trunk, but it doesn’t have to be now.”
“You can go. I’m…settling. Tea will help.” I sit, running my hand over the nap of the couch cushion. It’s softer than the fabric at the Seattle apartment. Everything is softer here. The warmth from the mug seeps through my fingers, up my arm, and into my core.
“I won’t be more than five minutes. The door locks automatically, and the remote for the TV is right next to you.”
The quiet click doesn’t spike anything. Being alone…that’s harder. Still, once the familiar notes of Law & Order’s opening credits roll, I know I’ll be okay.