Chapter 12 #2
I don’t remember the last time I wore anything that smelled truly clean, and the desire to smell laundry detergent and fabric conditioner is making me long for the comforts I’d gotten used to before I was forced to leave my old life behind.
Emboldened, I stand and pick up the cell, typing out a message and hitting send before I can talk myself out of it.
Me: Do you have a washing machine?
A wave of nausea at my audacity rushes over me, and I place one hand over my mouth and the other over my stomach. Warrick has already done so much for me, it’s wrong to even think about asking for more. I’m contributing nothing, eating his food, using his electricity and hot water and…
The cell phone beeps, and I have to fumble not to drop it. Turning it in my palm, I brace for his anger, but instead his message simply says:
Warrick: Washer and dryer are in the garage. Detergent, fabric softener, and dryer sheets are in the cabinet above. Xoxo
All of the irrational fear I’d built up in the last ten seconds drains from me, and I wilt, sinking to my haunches on the floor.
What is wrong with me? I asked him if I could use his washer, not if he’d sign over his house to me.
What exactly did I think he’d say? This man has been so incredibly kind to me, and I’ve turned him into an ogre in my head because I asked to wash my clothes.
I’m an asshole.
Feeling awful, I rush upstairs, grab my backpack, then tentatively push open the door that leads to the garage.
It’s dark, but when I turn on the light, it reveals his home gym filled with weights and exercise machines.
In the far corner are the washer and dryer, and I quickly march over to them, opening the lid and tipping all of my dirty clothes into the drum.
Finding the detergent just where he said it’d be, I add less than I need, then set the machine to run, glad that it’s a basic enough model that I only have to twist the dial to make it work. Once the familiar whoosh of water starts, I sink to the floor and wait.
I know I could go back to the sofa and turn on the TV, but I feel awful for imagining Warrick would berate me for asking to use his washer, so instead of being comfortable, I punish myself by sitting on the cold, hard concrete floor until the machine slows to a stop and beeps, heralding the end of the cycle.
My legs are stiff when I clamber to my feet and move my clothes from the washer to the dryer, not adding a dryer sheet, before I hit the start button and retake my uncomfortable position on the floor.
I’m cold and achy by the time my clothes are washed, dried, and refolded in my backpack. They smell amazing, but I feel too awful to enjoy it, as I carry my backpack back upstairs and place it by the side of the bed.
My stomach is growling as I walk slowly back downstairs and take a seat on the couch, staring at the dark TV screen and wondering if I should turn it on.
A knock at the door makes my eyes go so wide that they hurt. Freezing, I stare at the door and wonder who it could be and what they’ll say if I answer it. The only people who know I’m here are Cora and her family and James and her husband.
A second knock has me pushing off the seat and tiptoeing to the window to peer outside. Standing on the step are a huge man and a tiny woman, who looks like she aspires to be Wednesday Addams.
Like they were expecting me, the woman turns to look at me, smiles, then waves.
Jumping back, I fall on my ass on the floor, my heart beating erratically.
“Verity,” a male voice calls.
They know who I am? That’s strange. I’ve never seen either of these people before, so Warrick must have told them about me.
“Verity, could you open the door, please?” the male voice says, the tone a little odd but stern enough to have me scrambling to my feet and opening the door an inch.
“Hi,” the woman says, smiling widely the moment she sees me. “I’m Octy, and this is my husband Knight. We’re friends of Warrick’s. But I’m guessing by how freaked out you look right now that he didn’t tell you we were coming to meet you?” she says.
“No, he didn’t mention anything,” I say, my voice pathetically small. “He’s not here right now.”
“Oh, we know. We’re here to see you.”
“Me?” I splutter, utterly confused.
“Could we come in?” she asks, softening her voice a little.
“Err. Yeah, okay.” Reluctantly, I pull the door open, then take a step back, watching as the two strangers step inside.
Even if they hadn’t told me they were a couple, it’s obvious from the way they move together. The huge guy is so close to his wife, they’re basically pressed against each other, his hand hovering at her side, waiting to catch her in case she falls.
The woman, Octy, is dressed like a real-life doll.
Her dark hair is up in pigtails with bows, her dress is black with a white lace collar, a full skirt that ends mid-thigh, and puff sleeves trimmed with the same lace as at her neck.
Her legs are half covered by white knee-high socks, and the outfit is completed with chunky black buckled boots with a thick platform sole.
She looks bizarre but awesome, and I have to fight the urge to poke her to check that she’s really real.
“It’s called gothic Lolita,” Octy says, dragging my attention off her outfit and back to her face.
“Sorry?” I question.
“My style, it’s called gothic Lolita. Basically I like to dress like a goth baby doll,” she says cheerily, her upbeat attitude at odds with her black demeanor.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare,” I gasp, my cheeks heating with embarrassment.
“Don’t apologize. If I cared about people staring, I wouldn’t dress like this.” She laughs.
The guy is still standing like a silent sentry behind her, not speaking, his eyes scanning the room like he’s searching for a risk. When his assessing gaze lands on me, I curl into myself, cautiously closing the door behind me, but not stepping forward.
“I’m sorry, we’re freaking you out. But I’m not working today, and once Knight told me Warrick had met someone, I insisted on coming over to meet you.”
“It’s okay,” I say, trying and failing to smile at the woman, who is so clearly trying to put me at ease. “Can I get you a drink or anything?” I offer, feeling strange offering them drinks I didn’t pay for, in a home that isn’t mine.
“I’d love a coffee,” Octy says.
“No,” the big guy growls, making me take a step back, so my butt hits the front door. “You’re pregnant, and caffeine is bad for the baby.”
Huffing audibly, Octy nods. “I’m only a few weeks pregnant, and I miss coffee so much. I have no idea how I’m going to cope for nine months without it.”
“I’m not much of a coffee drinker,” I say, wrinkling my nose.
“I need it almost as much as air,” she breathes whinily.
“I’ll see what Warrick has,” the man says, steering Octy to sit on the couch before he makes a beeline for the kitchen, like it’s perfectly normal for him to help himself in someone else’s house.
But maybe it is. How would I know? These people are strangers to me, but they could have known Warrick for years.
“Come. Sit. Knight is losing his shit about me being pregnant. I think he thinks I’m going to collapse if I stand for more than five minutes at a time,” she says with affection but clear amusement.
Glancing over my shoulder at the closed door at my back, I genuinely consider making a run for it, then I force myself to stop being ridiculous, shuffle forward, and take a seat on the opposite end of the couch.
“Literally all Warrick has told Knight is that your name is Verity and that you’ve moved in. I know these guys can come on super strong, so I guess I just wanted to check that you’re okay,” Octy says earnestly.
“Oh, err, I’m fine. Warrick is really nice.”
“He is nice. He’s super nice. But the guys in this town, they can be full-on, and that can be a lot.
Knight moved me into a house he built for us and we were married within a couple of days.
I love him, so I was okay with moving at a million miles an hour, but sometimes they forget to check that the speed they want to move at is okay for you as well as them. ”
“Oh, it’s not like that with me and Warrick,” I say quickly, hating that something that feels like regret tugs low in my stomach.
“It’s not?” she questions.
“Oh, no. I just needed a place to stay for a few days, and he’s a really good guy,” I tell her.
But is that a lie? He kissed me. He’s told me this is my home.
I’ve felt his arousal and he’s admitted that he’s glad that I’m a virgin.
But he’s not moving too quickly. In fact he’s not moving fast at all.
He’s the one that’s stopped the couple of kisses we’ve had turning into something more.
“So you’re not a couple?” Octy questions, her brows drawn together in confusion.
“We’ve only known each other for a few days.”
Chuckling, she waves my words away. “That doesn’t matter in Rockhead Peak.”
“Have you eaten lunch?” the guy Knight growls from the kitchen, the refrigerator door open, his expression dark.
“No,” I say quickly, not wanting him to tell Warrick that I’ve been taking advantage of the food he left for me.
“Why not?” he snarls. “Lunch is at thirteen hundred hours; it’s almost fifteen hundred hours. You should have had lunch by now.”
“I…I…” I stutter, not sure what to say.
“Knight likes a schedule,” Octy says. “He’s pretty rigid about meal times.”
“Does Warrick know that you haven’t eaten lunch?” he asks, tapping at his cell before he brings it to his ear.
Unsure what is happening, I look to Octy for answers, but she just shrugs.
“Did you know your woman isn’t eating?” Knight growls into the phone without any preamble or greeting.
There’s a pause when it looks like he’s listening to the person on the end of the phone then he says.
“She hasn’t had lunch.” He nods, then holds the cell out to me. “He wants to talk to you,” he says.
“Me?” I croak.
Marching out from behind the counter, he pushes the cell into my hands.