Chapter 4
FOUR
Felix
What the hell have I gotten myself into?
It’s fine. This is fine. I mean, anything is better than being back home, right? I can handle this. I haven’t seen Grey since he stormed into his room. I’m assuming he has a bathroom in there because he hasn’t emerged even once since this morning and it’s nearly four in the afternoon.
He has to be hungry, right? I know I am. I’m starting to get a headache. It’s nearly four now, so Steven won’t be home for another hour. I wonder what he’ll think coming home to an empty house. This isn’t the first time I’ve run away.
Part of me is afraid he’ll show up here even though logically it would be impossible for him to track me down. He’s at work now. I was careful. I need to relax. I’m safe. I have nothing to worry about.
I guess I have one thing to worry about, and that’s Grey firing me. I know he’s not happy I’m here, I get it, but it’s hard to remind myself that it’s not personal. It’s not, right?
I will make the best of it.
I want to show him I’m here to help. I know nothing about what he’s going through, but I do know injuries, and that swelling he has looks dangerous. I want him to rest. If he’s constantly moving, it won’t heal. Alyssa warned me that he was stubborn and growly, but she insisted he wasn’t violent.
I’ve walked on eggshells for a while now. I’m used to it. It’s like living with a rescue animal—you’re not sure whether they’re going to attack. Yeah, he’s angry and a bit of an asshole, but there’s this sadness in his eyes that I saw when his friends came over earlier.
I walk into the living room with my bullet journal clutched in my hands. It’s a nice size room with a wraparound couch and a recliner that he should probably make more use of. I’m not a medical professional by any means, but his knee looked really inflamed.
I’m hungry, and I’m sure he is too, but I feel weird about helping myself to his kitchen.
I know Alyssa assumed Grey would tell me everything, but he’s been content to just pretend I don’t exist. I can’t be afraid to do my job. So what if he yells? I’ve dealt with worse.
I’m done letting people bully me. This is my job, and I intend to do it.
I set my journal down and go to the kitchen. It’s spacious, with an island in the middle that has a sink and a butcher block to prep food on. Taking a deep breath I calm myself. I dealt with Steven for eight years; this is nothing. I can do this.
While this is a beautiful home, it is a bit of a mess.
Everything looks very rustic. So, after I find the cleaning supplies under the sink, I unload the dishwasher and load it up again, then I clean off the counters before trying to figure out dinner.
I look in the fridge, not seeing much. I wonder how often he shops.
Someone as big as him must eat a ton, yet there isn’t much here to speak of.
Steven and I used to get our groceries delivered.
He’d give me money, which I’d have to budget well.
I’d convinced him we needed to tip the drivers, but instead I stole the tips for nearly a year and a half.
I’m not proud of myself, but I had no other way out.
I had to save enough money to find a place to stay if I needed it.
I wanted to save a little more, but as soon as I saw this job I knew I had to try.
Now I’ll make my own real money. Alyssa is holding onto my first few paychecks until I can get a bank account.
Which means going into town.
I’ll do it soon. Just not right now. I don’t know if he’ll be able to find me, but I don’t want to take the risk.
Inside the fridge I find pizza dough. Okay, I can work with that.
I pull it out and grab the block of mozzarella, and I find sauce in one of the forest-green cabinets.
Cheese pizza it is. It’s the best I can do until I ask him about groceries.
I don’t know what this guy’s deal is, but if this morning is how he treats his friends, I’m scared about how he’ll treat me if I’m around him for more than a few minutes.
With the dough on the counter, I go out to the living room and clean up the empty beer bottles, plates, and the few cups left sitting out, then I wipe down the coffee table, then I clean up and wipe down the dining room table.
At the end of the hall, I find the vacuum.
His rug could use it, but I don’t want to make too much noise. Instead, I make my way down to my room.
I peek inside. It’s a nice size, with navy-blue walls and a queen-sized bed.
A bed to myself.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, blinking away the sting in my eyes. This is it. I’ve done it. I never have to go back. I live here now.
What if Grey means what he says and kicks me out, though?
I just need to stay here long enough for a couple of paychecks.
Alyssa is paying me really well—almost too much, I think.
And how hard could this job be? If I save every dollar, I can look into moving far away.
To do what? I have no clue. I’ve never really had a drive or passion like most people I grew up with.
I had no dream careers and no real ambition other than living a quiet life.
The thing is, I actually enjoyed taking care of the home and the thought of Steven working to care for me. The first year was magic. I don’t know what happened, but the magic faded fast.
That’s behind me now. I don’t have to live like that anymore. He won’t find me here. It’s not like I left a paper trail. I need to stop thinking about him. It’s done.
I need to focus on what I can control, and that’s doing my job.
With the pizza dough having sat out for a bit, it’s a lot softer.
I preheat the oven to five hundred and stretch the dough, then find pizza pans in a cabinet and put some olive oil on them to prevent sticking.
I shape the dough then lightly press holes in it with a fork—not all the way through, just enough to make crevices for the sauce to seep into.
Steven liked pepperoni on his, but I hate it. Then it hits me. I can make anything I want. I’ll leave one pizza with just cheese, in case that’s what Grey likes, and I’ll see what he’s got in his fridge. There’ll be leftovers, but who doesn’t love leftover pizza?
I find half a jar of jalapenos and put them on one of the pizzas—I love spicy food, but Steven couldn’t eat it—then I take the small jar of sauce to put it on the other pizza.
It’s not coming out, so I slap the bottom, but it splashes out of the jar, some hitting my shirt. Dammit! I only have this one right now.
I finish preparing the pizzas and put them in the oven, with a timer because I’m forgetful, then I try my best to get the sauce stain out—without much luck.
I think I made it worse. I take it off, hyperaware that I’m shirtless in this stranger’s kitchen, and take more soap, scrubbing until the stain is barely even there. Now my shirt is soaked, though.
I creep down the hallway, hoping Grey doesn’t choose this moment to emerge from his lair.
Luckily the laundry room is next to my room.
I shove my shirt in the dryer, and he has two hampers filled with clothes, so I throw on a load for him.
I wonder what else I need to do. I want to be good at this. I want to help him.
He looked so sad. Gruff, absolutely, but there was a sadness in his stormy eyes that hurt to watch.
It’s the same look I see in the mirror more often than I like.
I wait about ten minutes then check my shirt.
I guess it’s dry enough. I do need new clothes, and now I have this job, maybe I could take some of the money I’ve set aside and buy some of the things I need.
I button my shirt back up, ignoring the slightly damp spot, and back out in the hall I decide to check the bathroom next to my room to see if it needs to be cleaned. I should make a to-do list in my journal. I see another room with the door slightly ajar. An office?
I walk in and see a desk with a computer sitting on it, but it’s what’s all around the room that catches my attention. There are large frames hanging on the walls, some with jerseys in them. Some with photos from a hockey game. There are shelves lined with memorabilia. Is he into hockey?
I walk up to one of the walls where there’s a photo from a game. The player dressed in a green-and-tan jersey is mid-strike, slapping the puck into the net. Then I recognize who it is.
It’s Grey.
A smile grows on my face. He looks so happy. Going down the line of pictures, there are in-game photos, and some of him posing with his jersey on. There are three jerseys displayed in shadow boxes along the wall too, and that’s when I see the back of the jersey—number thirty-two, Tremblay.
So, maybe a hockey injury.
I walk to his shelves, looking at his hockey cards, the hockey pucks .
. . There are trophies and what looks like fan-made gifts.
Then on the other wall there’s a framed photo of Alyssa’s daughter, and one of Alyssa and Lianna together.
There’s another one of them with an older woman.
I don’t know who she is, but I assume that’s their mom.
She and Alyssa look very similar. Where is she?
Or their dad for that matter. There’s another photo, and I recognize one of the men from earlier fishing with Grey.
There’s another man with them with black hair and striking bright blue eyes.
In all these photos Grey looks so happy.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
With a scream, I clutch my chest. My heart races rapidly and I stumble back, nearly taking out a shelf. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.”
“Get the fuck out of my room! Why are you in here?!”
“I wasn’t taking anything, I swear I—”
Veins cord in his neck. I shrink. He bangs the door all the way open and I almost expect the doorknob to go through the wall. “Get out!” he yells. I nod fast, swallowing hard. My entire body goes cold. My limbs shake. I feel like my chest is vibrating.
“Yes. Yes, I’m so—” He walks toward me. Fuck, he’s huge. “I’m so—so—” I can’t breathe.
“Pack your shit. You’re done. Do you hear me? Done!”
My mouth opens but shock snatches the words from me. “I—” My hands can’t stop shaking. “I’m sorry. I meant no harm, I—”
“Get the fuck out.” he growls, glowering down at me. He’s not much taller than me, but he’s a hell of a lot bigger.
“Y-yes. Yes, I’m so sorry. I just. I was trying to find—and I made food, and I—”
“Get out!” he roars.
I nod, ducking under him to squeeze my way out the door.
Shaking the entire way to the kitchen, I see the timer is almost up on the pizza.
A hot tear snakes down my cheek. Get it together!
It’s fine. He’s not Steven. He’s not. He’s not Steven.
I’m fine. It’s fine. He yelled. Grow up.
It’s fine! I swallow back the emotion clogging my throat. I’m okay. I’ll be okay.
Finally, the timer goes off and I take the pizzas out. The pizza cutter trembles in my hand. I leave it on the stove for him and I turn, flinching when I see him standing in the kitchen. His face is red, his eyes dark. “I made you dinner,” I whisper. “I’m sorry.”
I try to move around him, but he stands in my way. Why did I move here? Why did I just move in with this strange man? I’m so stupid. “Go grab yourself a couple of slices.”
My brows pinch. “What?”
“Get your food then get the fuck out of my face.” My teeth are chattering in my skull. I nod, turning back to the counter and grabbing a couple of slices.
“There’s um, two different kinds, and I just, I’m so—” I look up at him. “Right. Um. There you are.” With my plate clutched in my hands I nearly sprint to my room and shut the door and lock it.
What the hell have I gotten myself into?