Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Gage and I work for a few hours, both of us acting like the conversation on the porch didn’t happen, which it most certainly did. I’m setting up boundaries. I don’t care if I need a knife in my hand to do it; I’m fucking doing it. I’ll stab a man before he can take advantage of me again.
The work is detailed and slow, but there’s something satisfying about digging through this piece of shit’s life, stacking up the cards so he loses as much as possible. The atmosphere here is also so much better than the shop, despite the hulking glower from across the table.
We only have two more days before the first trial on Gage’s schedule, and I get caught up in the details, only breaking when Gage rubs his temples and stands up. He mutters something about letting the dog out, then disappears down the hall.
I perk up. I heard the dog barking when I got here. Animals are always better than people.
I take a minute to really take in Gage’s living room.
I don’t want to look like I am spying, not that he can see me doing it.
Well, he might be able to. I’m not sure how much he can see, and I’ll be damned if I ask.
The living room is sunken, lined with flower print couches on one side and floor-to-ceiling windows on the other.
It looks out into a small yard and woods beyond, the leaves brilliant oranges and reds.
I hate to admit that it’s pretty. Homey, even.
Gage comes back into the living room, guiding a pitbull by its collar. The dog is panting, mouth open in a smile. Once he lets the dog outside, it stands there, wagging its tail. Gage moves to the kitchen, and I hear the fridge open.
Well fuck. I realize I got distracted by the sudden location change and forgot to pack lunch.
I watch as the dog moves into the yard, squats to pee, and dances back up to the back door. It stands there, tail wagging and tongue out. Fuck, it’s cute. Sucks that it’s stuck with a grumpy asshole.
The dog digs at the door where there are streak marks on the glass.
Gage doesn’t come to let the dog in. Instead, I hear the microwave going. Maybe he can’t hear it.
I shrug, getting up and going to the door. I at least want to say hi. As I crack the door open, the dog shoves past me and barges into the house. I freeze, and so does the dog. Its whole body is frozen, and its tail is stuck up in the air.
Fuck, is it scared?
“It’s okay, baby,” I keep my voice low. Immediately, I notice the dog’s cloudy eyes.
Oh shit. Can it not see?
“Sorry, bud.” I step back. “Not your owner.”
The dog sniffs a few times, then unfreezes. It skirts past me, running for the living room with its tail between its legs.
Oh my god, the dog is scared of me. Fuck. I feel like a horrible human being.
“Did you pack lunch?” Gage’s voice floats into the room over the sounds of the microwave.
Cool. Can this get any more uncomfortable? I shut the door and glance at the dog again, who’s taken up residency where Gage was sitting on the couch.
The money. Just think about the money.
“I’m good.” I sneak back over to where I was on the couch while still giving the dog some space.
The fridge door slams and I jump.
“I didn’t ask if you were good; I asked if you packed lunch.” Gage sounds pissed, and for a second, I freeze.
I drop my hand to the knife in my purse, and I flip out the blade.
I will not let any man bully me. Not anymore. If Gage tries anything, I’ll turn him into a pincushion for Halloween.
There’s the sound of plates clattering, then silence. I don’t like the silence. Dad was never silent before stomping up the stairs. So what is Gage doing?
Suddenly, there’s a warm tongue on my hand, and I jump, looking down. The dog has moved over to me with its back to the couch. It licks me again, tail thumping slightly.
Poor thing’s just as scared as I am.
Wait, why is it scared?
I have a horrifying thought. If I find out Gage is abusing it, I’ll slit his throat right here and now. I pull my knife hand back so I don’t cut the dog, and pet it with my other hand.
Then, Gage rounds the corner, and I stand up. Only, instead of squaring up with me, he has two plates of food in his hands.
I’m gripping the knife so firmly that the handle is pressing into my hand, and the dog just backs into my legs, pressing against me.
Gage maneuvers around the couch and then drops the food in front of me. It’s spaghetti. Then, he moves to the end of the couch, sits down, and starts eating.
I’m stuck there, staring at him. For a second, he doesn’t do anything. Then, he freezes, looking up.
“Buddy?”
The dog’s tail thumps, but it doesn’t move from my side.
“You let Buddy in?” The anger rises in Gage’s voice, and I tense, readying my knife.
But Gage doesn’t come after me. He just runs his hand through his white hair. “She didn’t bite you, did she?” He sounds stressed.
“What?” I look down at the dog, who looks just as scared as I feel. It’s a she?
“Did she bite you?” Gage asks, his eyes moving from me to the dog. “Buddy, come here.”
Her tail thumps more, but she still doesn’t move.
“Are you holding her?” The anger is back.
“No!” I glare at him. “She seems scared of you.”
Gage laughs, and it’s bitter. He laughs and laughs, slapping his knee like it’s the funniest thing in the world. I just stare at him like he’s crazy. Because I think he is.
Finally, he wipes his eyes. “Buddy is scared of women. Always has been.”
I stare at the dog, then back up at Gage, still skeptical.
He squints like he’s trying to see. “Did you feed her something?”
“No.”
Gage doesn’t look mad anymore, and slowly, I release my death grip on the knife. It’s then that Buddy perks up, staring at the extra plate of food on the coffee table.
“Don’t let her eat that.” Gage waves at the food.
“Why?” I glare at him, still unsure why the dog acted the way she did. Is he starving her?
“Do you want to be up at 2 AM cleaning up the diarrhea?” He arches an eyebrow.
I just frown. Buddy is inching her head toward the food. Reluctantly, I pull the plate of food onto the side arm of the couch. Buddy just repositions, facing me with her tongue out, looking up at me with those milky eyes.
“Is she blind?” I ask.
There’s a silence, and then Gage answers, “Yeah.”
The silence continues, and I look up to see Gage watching me with the most intense look in his eyes. He’s watching me like he’s cataloging every single feature and every movement I make, which he can’t be because he can’t see me. Right?
It’s unsettling. It makes me feel like I have something on my face. I shift, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. What is he looking at?
Finally, Gage grunts, looking down at his plate. “Eat.”
I brush over my face, making sure everything is fine. Nothing seems wrong. He’s not even going to say why he was staring? I want to ask him about it, but I stop myself. You can’t ask a blind person why they were staring.
I glance at the food, but I don’t eat it. First, he invites me over to his house, acts all weird about his dog, and now he’s feeding me some mystery food?
“Eat,” Gage demands as he continues to eat.
“Don’t like spaghetti,” I spit. I do like spaghetti, but he’s being bossy, and it scares me a bit.
It’s clear Buddy likes spaghetti ‘cause she’s started drooling on my leg. Suddenly, I worry that he told me not to let Buddy eat it because he drugged it.
Gage sighs, then gets up. I tense, but Buddy doesn’t. And that’s the only reason I don’t stab Gage. He stops a foot away, handing me his plate. “The food is fine. Switch me.”
I stare at him.
“Listen,” annoyance floods his tone, “I’m paying you to do a job for me. You can’t work if you’re starving. So eat the goddamn spaghetti.” He hands me the plate. Reluctantly, I take it and switch for the one he gave me.
Gage sits back down. The smell of tomato sauce and noodles wafts up and makes my mouth water. I am hungry.
Another drool spot hits my leg.
I send an apologetic look to Buddy, then quietly stick my fork in a meatball.
Silently, I bring it to my mouth and chew, and fuck if flavors of tomato sauce, meat, and Italian seasoning don’t explode across my tongue.
I think I let out a small sound of appreciation, then sneak a glance at Gage to see if he’s caught me.
For a second, I think I see the lines between his brows smooth, but then I blink, and he’s back to angry, and I wonder if I even saw it.