54. Salem
SALEM
“ I t’s still only thunder, Sim.” I reach down and scratch under his chin after he starts trembling again. “I’m sure,” I answer as his gaze pings between me and the window.
His head twists toward the fireplace as the wood makes a crackling-pop sound. “It’s just fire.”
His forelegs start to slide forward on the rug when a rumbling reverberates off the walls, and he shoots up and barks at the window.
“Thunder, Sim.” I sigh as I rub my eyes. It’s gonna be a long night.
I reach for my phone and connect to my speaker’s Bluetooth. I play the video in my browser.
Again.
It came in a few days ago—a text with a link.
Sid
He’s in love with you
My hair stood on end as Blue closed his eyes and sang an acoustic rendition of a song I’d never heard but now can’t forget. “Lonely Love Song” by St. Paul & The Broken Bones. His voice, older and deeper sounding than his speaking voice, bled about death and longing. It was haunting.
The opposite of running.
It rooted down and rubbed against a visceral ache inside me.
He was showered with applause as I was swallowed by heartache. The video has over two million views, with people demanding an album. Blue hasn’t acknowledged the demand or made any public statement. I get the feeling he never will. This wasn’t for the public.
Simba’s bark cuts through Blue’s voice, startling me.
“What is it?”
He jumps to his feet and takes off toward the door.
There’s a growl missing from his bark, which means someone friendly is approaching. It’s different from his howl for me and Denzel.
I pause the video, then grab my button-down off the armrest and tug it on.
Standing, I walk over to the security panel to check the camera feed.
Hmm. He’s off tonight.
“Good boy.” I pet Sim on his head before turning the locks and opening the door.
“Hey, boss,” Josiah says, holding up a bag of takeout and a bottle of wine. “Hungry?”
“Uh…” I look down the street. “Were you in the neighborhood?”
He lowers his hands. “N-no. I was sitting at home, bored, and thought I’d check in on you and Simba.” Simba pops his head out at the sound of his name.
“Hey, Sim,” Josiah says, bending down and showing him some love.
“Honestly, I’d usually welcome the company, but I’m feeling like shit.”
“Oh. What’s the matter? A cold?”
“Nah. Nothing like that.”
He peers up at me, waiting for me to elaborate. “Oh. Is it Arnaz?”
“Yeah.” I nod.
He pouts as he stands. “You sure food and wine won’t help?”
“Thanks, but I think I’m gonna turn in.”
“Okay.”
“Hold on one sec?” I step back.
I jog to the kitchen, grab a Tupperware container, and fill it.
“Here.” I hand it to him.
“What is it?” He pops back the lid.
“A slice of chocolate cake with coffee and Swiss meringue buttercream and a couple of blood orange cinnamon rolls.”
“Mm.” He moans. “You made this?”
I nod.
“You stress bake?” His smile darkens. “That’s—Listen, if Arnaz doesn’t come to his senses, know there’d be a line of men down this block who’d kill for all of this.” His hand waves up and down in front of me.
I stuff my hands in my pockets. I know that’s supposed to be comforting, but it hurts.
“Here,” he says, offering me the food.
“Keep it. I ate earlier.”
“Okay, but you have to take this at least.” He hands me the wine.
“Okay.” I accept it. “Thanks for checking on us.”
“See you Tuesday?” he asks Simba.
Sim wags his tail in response.
“Hey, Josiah?”
He looks up.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something. I really appreciate your help with Simba, and how you take care of him when I’m not around.”
“I love Sim,” he says, beaming.
“I appreciate that. It’s just…I’ve noticed lately that you’ve worn clothes I’ve left around and sent me pics in them. I’m sure you meant it in a casual way, but I need to make sure it’s not crossing a professional boundary that I’m uncomfortable with.”
“Oh.” He winces. “Shoot.”
“If you ever need anything while you’re here, feel free to ask.”
“Oh my god, hearing you say it out loud—I’m so cringe. I’m sorry.”
“Thanks for hearing me out.”
He nods. “See you Tuesday?”
“Yep. Goodnight.”
I lock the door and then crash on the couch. I start the video again as Simba howls and races for the door.
Denzel?
I launch to my feet and bolt for the door, tearing it open, then freeze. Not by choice. My heart and brain are racing too fast to make sense of what I’m seeing.
Blue’s standing there, leather jacket drenched, eyes red, jaw scruffy, hand clenching his duffel.
He takes in my open shirt, then looks past me inside the house before searching my eyes.
“It’s just me and Sim here.” I don’t know why I offer that.
Or why I want to fix whatever it is that has him looking so shattered.
“I tried to stay away and give you space…”
I nod for him to continue.
“But…fuck, I miss you so much it hurts. I’m sorry I hurt you by running and keeping things from you.
For so long, I felt like, at best, I’m an inconvenience, and at worst, I’m harmful.
I didn’t believe I deserved you. I’m so sorry I hurt you.
I’ve never been in love before, and maybe everyone is better at it than me, but there’ll never be a day that I won’t love you, and that I won’t try to?—”
“You’re in love with me?”
He bites the inside of his lip as his head tilts slightly. “Yes.” His eyes water. “And I want to fix us. Show you I’m here. I don’t expect you to just take my word for it.”
I lean against the door. The ache of seeing him cry, of how much I’ve missed him…I rub my sternum, but it only spreads. “Uh.” I force the words out. “I need time.”
“Okay.” He steps back. “Can I come by tomorrow and we talk?”
“I said I need time, not that I want you to leave.”
His lips part slightly. “I don’t under?—”
“Let’s go to bed, Blue. We’ll talk in the morning.”
“Are you sure?”
“I wouldn’t sleep knowing you’re in town but not here.” I nod toward the steps, holding open the door.
“I would be right back here in the morning,” he says, taking a hesitant step forward.
Instead of stepping over Sim, who’s lying in the entryway and watching us, he kneels in front of him. “Hi Simba. I’m Blue.”
Simba licks his wrist as he pets him.
“He howled when you were at the door. He only howls for me and Denzel.”
“You howled for me?” he whispers, leaning down and pressing his forehead to Sim’s wet nose. “I have a feeling you and I go way back.” He stands. “I heard about the lead in Mexico.”
“Yeah. It’s something, I guess.”
“It’s a good lead,” he says, leveling a stare at me.
There’s something different about him. Like he’s cracked open and not trying to hide it.
I wrap my arms around my chest to fight the urge to pull him into my arms.
“You”—I clear my throat—“you, uh, hungry or thirsty?”
“Water?” he asks.
I nod and head to the kitchen and fill a glass. When I return, he’s standing and staring into the fire.
My steps falter as I get closer. He’s completely still, but tears are trickling from his eyes.
“Hey,” I say.
He looks up. “Thanks,” he says, reaching for the glass. It’s like he doesn’t even know he’s crying. He downs the water in seconds and doesn’t make any attempt to wipe his tears.
“Thirsty. Want another?”
“I can just hold on to the cup and fill it up in the bathroom sink.”
“Nah, I can get you another cup. Here”—I reach in to grab his duffel and graze his hand—it’s ice cold. The back of my palm reaches up and grazes the side of his face. “Blue, you’re freezing. What happened to you tonight?”
He doesn’t answer me. His eyes close, and his face leans into my touch. A fresh set of tears spills down his face, all my restraint snaps, and I pull him into my arms. “Hey.” I kiss his forehead. “You’re safe.”
His arms wrap around me, tighter than our last morning at the cabin. He seemed so afraid to let go of me that day. Something he saw in the ruins of the house in the field rattled him. This is different.
“God, I’ve missed you,” I whisper, pressing a kiss to his forehead. I tilt his chin up. My breath hitches when I see more tears pooling in his eyes.
“Don’t let go,” he pleads.
I’m in love with you. I wouldn’t know how to let go. “Your face is ice cold—I want to run a bath for us.”
He huffs out a breath. “A bath?”
“Yeah.”
He tries to step back, but I hold on to him.
“I didn’t come here for you to take care of me. I came here to fix us and?—”
“Shh,” I reply. “I know. Come on.”
I listen to his quiet breaths for a moment as he takes in my bedroom. Something about my bed lightens the heaviness in his eyes. He walks over to my nightstand, and his fingers trail over the open pastry book lying face down on top.
“This way.” I guide him to the bathroom.
We silently watch each other as the tub fills, and we undress.
When I go to climb in first, he says, “Please. Can I hold you?”
“Okay,” I reply, letting him climb in first.
His hand clutches the side of the tub, and steam blankets his knuckle tattoos. His eyes flutter shut as he lowers into the bathwater. I give him a few moments to himself, slipping out to grab his water refill.
Head leaned back, his stare is distant when I return.
“Here,” I murmur, offering him a sip.
He drains the water even faster than the last one.
When I reach for the cup to place it down, he holds on to my hand. “Come,” he whispers.
I climb in and lean back against his chest, not sinking against him all the way at first, but when I feel the quickened thump of his heartbeat against my back, I let go and settle all my weight against him. His heartbeat slows.