Chapter 14
14
Sloane
Nigel’s eating the treasure.
He’s eating the treasure and telling me I have to go back to Two Twigs and give him as many babies as the number of gold pieces he eats, and he’s eaten eighteen , and now he’s saying that his new sex ritual involves me sticking emeralds up my nose to guarantee triplets for the first round, and he’s taking off his clothes, and?—
Oh my god, his penis is a hippopotamus .
I sit straight up and scream.
An unfamiliar darkness surrounds me. I’m on a mattress that’s harder than I’m used to. Peggy isn’t in bed with me. These sheets are flannel, I’m sweating in a T-shirt that smells like my grandma’s cedar chest, and I don’t know where it came from.
“Sloane?”
I scream again as a man throws open the doorway. “No hippo dick! Back, hippo dick! ”
He freezes.
Peggy meows.
My eyes adjust, and even with my heart pounding this fast and my blood pressure making dots dance in my vision, I remember who I am.
Where I am.
Why I am.
Maybe not all why I am, but definitely why I’m here. Specifically in this trailer.
Maybe not on earth.
And the T-shirt.
I’m wearing one of Davis’s T-shirts that he pulled out for me because I didn’t want to sleep in my scrubs and I wasn’t allowed to take anything but my cat from my house and I didn’t think to ask Tillie Jean for any clothes before we left her house.
I drop my head to my knees and pant for breath.
The floor creaks, and a moment later, the mattress sags next to me. I’m in the middle of the queen-size bed because I live alone, so I sleep alone, and I practice taking up space by taking up space when I’m subconscious.
“Bad dream?” Davis asks quietly.
Peggy leaps onto the bed and hops over to rub her face against my quilt-covered legs.
“Yeah.” I gulp more air. “I’m fine.”
He falls quiet while Peggy meows until I pull her against me and concentrate on slowing my breathing.
It was a bad dream.
Nigel can’t make me do anything.
He’s not eating treasure and sticking it up my nose.
If he has a hippo-sized penis, I will hopefully never know.
But also, in my dream—Nigel had Patrick’s face.
“Always fucking with me,” I mutter to myself as I exhale slowly to control my breathing.
“In your nightmares?”
I snort softly. “Sometimes in real life too. He showed up tonight, didn’t he?”
I don’t expect him to say anything—let’s be real here, it’s Davis—but after a moment, his voice rumbles softly in the darkness. “This isn’t the first time Nigel’s tried to hurt you.”
Peggy purrs, and I bury my face into her body. “People hurt people. It’s what we do.”
“Not always.”
“Do you date?”
“No.”
“Because you have trust issues.”
“Yes.”
“But not with the people you grew up with?”
“Not most days.”
There’s a light on in the kitchen area, streaming in through the open door and illuminating the twisted quilt and sheets, the utilitarian nightstand with a single lamp which is currently dark.
It’s not bright in here, but it’s not cave-dark either.
And knowing that Davis doesn’t trust people—that weirdly makes me trust him more.
Like he gets it.
He’ll continue to get it.
He’s not secretive because he wants to hurt people. He’s secretive because he doesn’t want people to hurt him.
This isn’t a scary dark room.
It’s a still night and he’s here, and no matter what I don’t know about him, no matter how much I’ve fucked with my own instincts to the point that I don’t trust them anymore, I trust Davis.
I don’t think he’s stalking me.
I think he really is protecting me.
Or trying to in whatever capacity he can.
“Did you ever have a crush on any of them? The people in your neighborhood?” I ask.
He shifts on the bed, his eyes dropping away from my face for the first time since he came in here.
“One more thing I don’t get to know, hmm?”
Velvety brown eyes collide with mine. “Ellie. I had a crush on Ellie early in high school.”
Is he freaking serious right now?
What am I, a magnet for Ellie’s leftovers?
He lifts a shoulder. “Weren’t many girls in the neighborhood. Cash’s sister didn’t hang with us as much. Wyatt picked on Ellie, and I thought I could defend her.”
“Do you still?—”
“No. She’s not my type.”
“That’s the only reason?”
“Also grew out of it when I realized the world was bigger than our neighborhood.”
“I fell in love with Nigel in middle school.”
You know that feeling when you realize someone’s paying closer attention?
That’s me right now.
Davis hasn’t moved, but again, I feel like he’s watching me far closer than he was a moment ago.
Also, I’ve never confessed this to a soul.
But if anyone’s going to know, shouldn’t it be my pretend fiancé who’s been standing between me and Nigel for the past few days?
“I got up the courage one day to ask him if he liked anyone because he sometimes chased me on the playground, and I was dumb—no, na?ve and inexperienced in the world enough to believe the stupid line about how boys pick on girls to show that they like them.”
Davis doesn’t make a noise, but I swear he tenses.
Or maybe I’m projecting.
I’m probably projecting.
“He told me then that he liked one of my friends. It was a little crushing, but none of us were allowed to date—too young, concentrate on school, don’t open your legs for boys until you’re married, all of that. But then I found out that they were secretly going together. I tried so hard to get over it because what kind of a monster has a crush on her friend’s boyfriend? Especially when I wasn’t supposed to have feelings for boys at all because I was too young, and boys were dangerous and they could get you pregnant and ruin your life and God would be so disappointed in you if you slept with a boy, even if no one ever said God would be so disappointed in him because boys had needs and God understood that.”
Davis stays silent.
I know he’s listening though. It’s this unique sensation like being wrapped in the warmest blanket on the coldest night of winter.
“I secretly started going with this other guy early in high school, and Nigel asked me to break up with him. Because Nigel said he’d realized then that he liked me. So I did, but after I wasn’t passing notes and having secret phone calls with that boy anymore, Nigel told me we had to be even more super secretive about it than I’d been with the first boy because his parents didn’t approve of me and we needed to give it space so I could heal from my breakup.”
Still no sounds from the man sitting on the edge of the bed.
But he puts a hand on my forearm and squeezes.
“I wasn’t upset about the breakup. I just wanted to be with Nigel. Except we only talked at school. No notes passed. He didn’t text me or call me on nights or weekends. He’d say hi, I’d say hi and blush like crazy, and at lunch he’d sit with the guys on the basketball team so we wouldn’t tip anyone off. And then I heard one day that he was dating— dating -dating—one of the cheerleaders. He was all it just happened, Sloane, but you know we weren’t meant to be together .”
“He strung you along.”
“Three times,” I whisper. “Three times before the end of high school, and because he was the grandson of the local preacher, I thought it was God’s will. That I’d done something wrong to deserve the hurt and the pain. That it was my fault for not being good enough. That it was punishment for the sin of having a crush on a boy too young. I wasn’t today years old when I realized the first boy I ever loved made a sport of gaslighting me, but it truly wasn’t until Patrick that I could see it clearly. And I just… Now Patrick’s back and Grandma sent Nigel and I feel like—I feel like all of this work I’ve done to let go of the guilt and shame that’s haunted me since childhood just for being born is all crashing back. I’ve worked through all of this shit already. I don’t want to do it again, but clearly, I have to.”
Davis shifts on the bed.
One arm slips around my back.
The other circles me, pulling me against him.
He rests his chin on my hair, his beard scratchy against my scalp, and he hugs me tightly.
A shuddery breath leaves my lungs as warmth and safety and comfort envelop me and Peggy.
“You’re a good person, Sloane.”
Heat slides down my face, from my hairline, over my forehead, down to my brows and eyelids. “I was taught that I’d never be good enough.”
“We are all enough.”
“I know they love me. They mean well. They’re coming from a place of caring, but they just—” Another shuddery breath ripples through me.
He hugs me tighter, and my nostrils fill with the scents of campfire smoke and pine needles and safety. “Love isn’t love when it’s used as a weapon.”
Peggy purrs loudly.
I think she agrees.
“It’s fine. I’m fine. It’s stress. Who wouldn’t be stressed in my shoes right now? I just—I just need some sleep, and then I’ll have the strength to deal with it. I can handle this. I can. Just…tomorrow. Not today.”
He doesn’t answer.
Not with words, anyway.
Instead, he strokes my back with his thumb while he keeps holding me.
Davis Remington.
My secret teenage crush.
My shameful secret teenage crush.
Holding my world together with a hug while giving me a safe space away from the horror of what happened to my house today at the hands of another man I never should’ve trusted.
I shouldn’t trust Davis.
But old habits die hard. All it takes is a little kindness, and I fold.
Like right now.
When I close my eyes and breathe in his scent again.
Any minute now, he’ll let go.
But he hasn’t yet.
So I keep breathing in his scent.
Keep soaking in the warmth and strength and comfort from his arms around me. Feel the distant beat of his heart as my head droops against his chest.
Even if it’s fake, even if he hurts me later, right now, I feel safe.
I’ve learned a lot about living for right now .
“I’ll get you the journal,” I whisper.
“I’ll get it.”
“Pop doesn’t like you.”
“Deserve that.”
“Why?”
“It’s complicated.” He bends his head over mine, scratching his beard into my hair, and is he?—
Is Davis kissing my head?
Is he?
Or isn’t he?
I should be able to tell, shouldn’t I?
My voice is higher than it should be when I speak again. “What’s complicated about it?”
“Your family thinks they know what’s best for you, but they can’t honor your own wishes for how you want to live your life.”
“What does that have to do with Pop?”
“He and I have a disagreement about what’s best for someone. Neither’s right. Neither’s wrong. And neither of us will fully honor the other’s wishes.”
“How does that even work?”
“It doesn’t, and that’s why he doesn’t like me.”
He kisses my head.
He does.
He kisses my head.
I’m not imagining that. It’s not the tequila. It’s not a dream.
My pretend fiancé is taking care of me.
“Go back to sleep. You’re safe.”
I don’t want to sleep.
Sleep is where the bad dreams come.
“You’re safe here,” he repeats.
He releases his hold, and chilly air envelops me.
I shiver.
“I don’t—I don’t want to be alone.”
The words linger in the air while I wince.
I’ve taught myself to be strong. I’ve taught myself to be independent.
And I just don’t fucking want to be tonight.
But I also don’t want to have just said that.
It’s too dim to read his expression, but after a moment’s pause, he leans over, off the side of the bed.
There’s a thump , then a second one, and then he straightens just long enough to release his hair from its bun before stretching out on the bed.
Peggy stares at him.
I got her after my last breakup, so she’s never slept with a man in her bed.
And it’s been well over two years since I’ve slept with a man in my bed either.
He’s not a man , I tell myself. He’s a friend .
Liar , my nipples reply.
“I’ll stay on this side,” I stutter. “I just—I’m normally—I’m always—I don’t usually need to not be alone. Today’s…different.”
He looks at me.
I suppress a sigh and settle back under the covers, huddling closer to the opposite side of the bed than I was when I had it all to myself.
Shouldn’t have expected an answer just because he talked more while he was cooking for me and giving me free rein with his tequila.
Peggy steps off me, standing between us, and she purrs.
Then purrs louder.
He settles his large hand over her back and strokes her, then does it again, until she’s running the show, telling him exactly where to pet her. She sprawls out, lying down between us but still closer to him so she can arch her head into his hand and do that thing where she stretches out her one front paw like she’s kneading biscuits.
I wonder if cats experience phantom limbs like humans do. Does she feel like she has both front paws right now?
The light’s still on in the kitchen area, filtering in here through the open door.
“Do you always sleep with the lights on?” I whisper to Davis.
“No.”
“Do you want me to?—”
“No.”
“Is that for my sake?”
“Yes.”
“If you’d rather it was dark?—”
“I can sleep anywhere. It’s fine. Can you sleep?”
I suck in a breath through my nose and look at the man who’s still so full of secrets, but who’s starting to make sense.
He’s not telling me he loves me.
He’s not telling me we’re in this together.
He’s just saying he’ll pretend to be my fiancé because he’s done it before and it doesn’t mean anything, and he’s giving me a place to stay tonight that’s safe.
I’m a mess.
But I’m not alone.
And for tonight—for right now —that’s enough.
“I think I can sleep,” I whisper.
“Good.”
“Thank you.”
He watches me watching him while he pets my cat.
And then he pulls in a long, quiet breath. “You may not ever be in my close circle, but you can trust that I mean you no harm. I’ve hurt enough people in my life already. Don’t want to do it again. You truly are safe here.”
My eyes sting.
I squeeze them closed so he won’t see, and I lie there, feeling my own heartbeat, listening to his slow, rhythmic breaths that don’t mean he’s sleeping but are still a little hypnotic, and I wonder if either of us will sleep tonight.