Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
A sound inside my apartment jolts me awake. It’s faint, barely there, but I hear it.
Steps. Footsteps.
Claudia.
I shoot up, forcing my eyelids open, and bump my foot on the coffee table.
“Shit,” I mutter in pain.
Someone’s inside my apartment?—
“You okay?”
I know that gruff voice.
Blowing out a breath, the sharp pain in my foot subsides as I rub it with my hand. “I thought someone had broken in.”
The couch groans under Travis’s weight as he sits. “Sorry I woke you up.”
Between my hammering heartbeat and my throbbing foot, it takes me a moment to notice the steamy mug in his hand. I left a pot of coffee ready for tomorrow morning on the stove, and it makes me smile that he helped himself to some because it means he feels comfortable here. In my presence.
And then I notice the clothing item that is definitely not mine draped over my lap.
“Travis?”
“Mm.”
“Is this…. Um, is this your jacket?”
“You looked cold,” he explains.
I eye the blanket I keep in a decorative basket mere inches from his feet and decide to ignore the way my heart goes thump, thump, thump in my chest.
“What time is it?” I mumble, placing the jacket on the back of the couch.
“Around three.”
I sit up, alarmed. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. You probably wanted to go home. I’m sorry I kept you here.”
But the huge man beside me grumbles, “Go back to sleep, Allie.”
“But—”
“There’s nobody waiting for me at home.” Sadness and relief crash into me at once. “I have two dogs, but I keep the barn open, and their doghouses and food are in there, so they’ll be fine. I have an alarm system and cameras. If you want me to stay just in case, I’ll stay. But you need to rest.”
“All right, but you need to sleep too.” I’m proud of the authoritative tone of my voice. “You’re working tomorrow.”
“So are you.”
It’s too early to be doing this with him. “I slept a handful of hours. I’m fine.”
“I’m fine too.”
I raise an unimpressed eyebrow. “So, you’re not drinking coffee to stay awake?”
“No.”
“I’ve never seen you drink coffee before,” I point out.
“I only have it for breakfast.”
“And you’re having breakfast at three in the morning?”
“Yes.”
He’s so full of it, I can’t help my lips from twitching. “What if I stay awake? Will you go to sleep then?”
I know the answer before he says it. “No.”
Because I’m very aware that we are not going to get anywhere if we continue down this path—and also because my sleep-deprived brain isn’t thinking straight—I stand from the couch with a new resolve and disappear into my bedroom.
When I come back, Travis’s eyes follow my movements with a face so straight, I couldn’t read it if I wanted to.
I turn on the floor lamp by the couch, drop my bracelet-making kit on the coffee table, plop down on the floor in front of it, and announce, “We’re making friendship bracelets.”
Once more, I don’t imagine the grunt that leaves the back of his throat. Bear-man, indeed. “I don’t befriend my staff.”
I ignore the stab-like feeling in my chest as I open the kit and look for the green beads I know I keep somewhere. “But you spend the night at their place in case there’s a break-in?”
That shuts him right up.
The smug smirk on my lips remains as I conclude, “Friendship bracelets it is. Any objections?”
I’m sure he has many—too bad I’m ignoring them all.
I don’t imagine the deep sigh he lets out. “I’m not making friendship bracelets with you, Allie.”
The way I’m keeping this smile in place is probably breaking a world record or two. Longer-lasting smile while your grumpy boss, who you have a massive crush on, breaks your heart.
“Well, I’m not tired anymore, and you don’t want to take a quick nap, so there’s little else for us to do except look at the wall for the next five hours.” I keep my voice light, hoping he doesn’t notice the crack currently happening behind my rib cage. “There’s nothing on TV, and I don’t have cable, so unless you want to die of boredom…” I nudge the bracelet kit in his direction. “Come on, you’ll make mine, and I’ll make yours. We’ll stop if you hate it. Pinky promise.”
If my gut feeling is correct, Travis isn’t going to pinky promise me anything anytime soon. He hasn’t moved an inch from his spot, his back against the cushions.
“I’ll pass.”
Sure. No biggie. My heart isn’t in shambles or anything.
“Okay.” I try to keep my voice cheerful and unaffected, but this time I don’t think I’m successful. I’m careful as I scoop up the beads I selected for him. “But I’m still making yours.”
When he doesn’t reply, I get to work. Grabbing the elastic cord, I tell him, “I need to measure your wrist.”
He doesn’t say a word as he holds out his wrist for me over the coffee table. And I don’t focus on how thick his tanned wrist looks, or how many dark little hairs are on his arms, or how stupidly big his hand is compared to mine. Not one bit.
“Thanks,” I mutter when I’m done, telling myself I can survive until the sun rises and Travis goes home.
I’m halfway done with the bracelet when he lets out a heavy sigh and sits forward, those stupidly hot forearms resting on his knees. His eyes are on me as he says, “Pass me that elastic cord stuff.”
I don’t say anything as I give it to him, unsure if he’s really changed his mind or is just testing the waters. Instead, I tell myself I won’t get upset for a second time if he decides this is bullshit.
“What colors do you want for yours?” he asks.
His eyes are on the beads and not on my face as I say, “Pink and white.”
He shifts his attention to the elastic. When seconds pass and it becomes clear that he doesn’t know what he’s doing, I step in. “Here, let me help you.”
My fingers graze his calloused palms as I take the cord from him. I wrap the elastic around my wrist, then cut it and give it back to him along with some tape.
“You can stick the tape on the end of the cord and fold it over so the beads stay in place. It should make it easier,” I offer, giving him some beads as well. “I’m doing one green, one white, one green, one white. See? But you can do whatever you want.”
Brow furrowed as if this were some kind of science experiment bound to blow up the whole block, my boss stays focused as he picks up a single bead between his thick fingers and stares at it. Just… blankly stares at it with so much intention, I can’t hold in my chuckle.
He slides his eyes toward me. They look almost soft. “You laughing?”
My lips twitch. “No.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
I nod toward his bracelet. “Off you go, boss man. This can’t be harder than the Navy.”
“Guess not.”
Never in a million years did I think I would be making friendship bracelets with my boss at three in the morning, yet here we are.
I let Travis figure out the whole bracelet-making thing on his own. Beads keep slipping from his grasp, and he curses under his breath every time.
I’ve long finished my bracelet for him, but I don’t want to leave him working alone, so I cut some more elastic bands and decide to make a few bracelets to donate this week.
“Why do you like making bracelets?” he asks out of the blue.
I keep working as I answer, “I’ve always liked arts and crafts, and this is easy enough. It takes my mind off things. I tried knitting once, but I was pathetic at it.”
He hums. “I see.”
Some may think it’s too childish of a hobby for a twenty-five-year-old, but those who judge others aren’t people I want to surround myself with. This makes me happy, and it’s harmless, so who cares?
The streets outside are mercifully quiet, with only the low humming of my refrigerator to keep us company. We keep working in silence until he breaks it.
“Why do you dye your hair brown?”
I don’t shift my gaze from the new bracelet I’m making, afraid of what he’ll find in my eyes. And then I shrug, as if his question hadn’t just undone me. As if my heart weren’t beating a million miles per hour.
“It was time for a makeover.”
We both know that’s not the real answer, but Travis doesn’t press. Until he asks, “Why are you here, Allie?”
I could play coy and be a smartass, tell him it’s close to four in the morning, so where else would I be.
I could, and maybe I would have gone down that road a few months ago, but I’m tired of having to pretend I’m not authentic when that’s all I’ve ever wanted to be.
“I needed a change of scenery,” I say, my voice quiet. Start with the smaller details, build it up next. “I…”
But I can’t.
My tongue feels too heavy, my throat is dry, and I can’t speak. I can’t?—
I can. I absolutely can. It’s all in my head.
Taking a deep breath through my nose, I keep my gaze on the bracelet. For some reason, telling him while not looking at him is easier.
“Where I grew up…” No. Bad start . “My family…” Nope. Try again. I clear my throat, hoping my voice doesn’t sound as unsure as I feel. “I wanted to be on my own. Find myself and all that. Get away from…from the pressure.”
“You had a rough family life?”
His question takes me by surprise, if only because Travis never asks us anything about our personal lives. But he’s asking about mine. About a past I don’t want to remember because it still hurts too much.
“Something like that,” I mutter, not wanting to elaborate. So much for being authentic.
He must pick up on my discomfort because his questioning stops. Silence falls over us again as I finish two more bracelets and Travis struggles with his. At one point, the sound of bike engines fills my apartment, and we both stiffen, listening, waiting, but nothing happens.
I relax. Travis doesn’t.
“It’s looking good,” I tell him, nodding at his bracelet and hoping to distract him. Being alert all the time can’t be good for him. “See? I told you it could be fun.”
He grunts. “Never said this was fun.”
“But is it?”
When he glares at me, I give him a knowing smile.
“It’s not too bad,” he concedes, which I’ll take as a personal victory.
I’m not even a little ashamed to admit that when it comes to Travis, I will inhale every minuscule crumb he gives me as if it were a full meal.
But I’ve been thinking about something for a while, and I will take his questions for me as an invitation to get my fill too.
“Can I ask you something?” When he hums, I go for it. “Why were you buying all those toys the other day?”
He asked me about the hair dye, so it’s only fair that I ask him about the toys.
I don’t expect an actual answer or even a dismissal. When it comes to Travis, he’s unapologetic about his own time—if he doesn’t want to waste it, he won’t. And sure, maybe he comes off as rude sometimes, but it’s one of the many things I admire about him. I wish I could send certain people to hell as easily as he can.
So I’m not expecting it when he says, “For charity.”
There goes my stupid, confused heart.
“That’s amazing.” The thought of Travis taking time out of his day and spending his money on kids warms my heart like nothing else ever has. “Why do you do it?”
Far more carefully than I’ve ever imagined he would, he ties a knot to secure the bracelet and grabs the scissors. “Do I need a reason?”
“You don’t, but I’m sure you have one.”
That big hand moves forward, palm up, as he passes me the bracelet. It doesn’t look half bad, and I already know I’m never going to take it off. “Thanks, Travis. It looks amazing. Here’s yours.”
I pass it to him and will my heart to behave as he puts it around his wrist.
He mutters his thank you, sitting back again with—I’m guessing—zero intentions of making another bracelet. That’s too bad—he’s a natural. I’m not done with my bunch, though, so I focus my attention back on the one I’m making and decide to add a charm or two.
“I never got any Christmas presents growing up. I don’t want other kids to go through that shit.”
When I look up, his eyes are already on me. There’s a layer of vulnerability in them that has never been there before.
“You have a big heart, Travis,” I tell him truthfully. No matter how hard his rough exterior tries to conceal it, I can see right through it. “Those kids will have an amazing Christmas thanks to you.”
He lowers his eyes to the ground. Is he embarrassed? He shouldn’t be because this is the most adorable he’s ever looked, and that’s a word I never thought I would use to describe this mountain of a man.
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s everything.” I search his gaze. “What charity is it? I would like to donate something too.”
He tells me the name, and I make a mental note to go to the shops in the next couple of days before Christmas week rolls around. I’m sure I can make a bunch of bracelets to donate, too, with different colors and charms.
I never got any Christmas presents growing up.
How devastating is that? It hurts too much to imagine a scowling little boy waking up on the most special morning of the year and not finding anything under the tree.
“I’m guessing you didn’t have an easy childhood?” I wonder out loud, my voice turning softer.
After losing his parents, it isn’t difficult to imagine why his childhood might not have been the best.
Those thick fingers scratch the side of his neck, a telltale sign that he’s uncomfortable. But he still answers, which I appreciate more than he’ll ever know.
“My parents passed when I was a kid, and I went to live with my uncle. He didn’t have much, so I didn’t have much. I don’t blame him for not getting me anything for Christmas. Having food on our table was our priority. It wasn’t until after I enlisted and started sending him money that things started looking up, and he opened the bar.”
My heart is beating so fast, it can’t be healthy. Travis is opening up to me about his past. I don’t understand why he’s trusting me with it, but I’ll take it—I’ll take any minuscule piece of information about him and treasure it forever.
“I’m sorry you had it rough.” My voice turns quiet in the darkness of the living room. “But thank you for telling me about it. If it’s any consolation, you’ve turned out pretty good, and Uncle Neil seems happy. You’re both great men.”
He says nothing to that. My phone shows it’s already past four in the morning, and I’m still wide awake, which means another tiring day at work looms ahead. Just great.
As I finish my next bracelet, this one with a butterfly charm, I ruminate about Travis’s confession. He’s the most closed-off person I’ve ever met, yet he’s told me about his troubled past. He chose to share those things with me. I know I don’t owe him anything in return, but…
Would it hurt to tell him why I’m here? Would he start treating me differently if I…
Of course he will.
I’ve been lying to him for a year. He’ll hate me.
I swallow, but the uncomfortable lump in my throat doesn’t go anywhere.
We chat about easy, casual things for a bit after that, and then I get cozy on the couch with a book while he watches a Western movie on TV. And when the clock hits seven in the morning, Travis heads home to take a shower, promising to be back for the apartment tour.
I let out a deep sigh as I lock up behind him, regret swirling in my stomach.