Chapter Seventeen
Rose had never had a problem falling asleep. She had never felt fear at waking up either. For all her life, she had been fortunate enough to not worry about the before and after of something she had clearly taken for granted.
When she opened her eyes the next morning, Rose felt appreciation for the warmth in her. Because of the warmth next to her.
James Keller was a big, scary man at first glance. Tall and wide and muscled, eyes sharp and clear, words low and often concise. He wore coveralls coated in oil and grime, lived in an isolated old house, and when he wasn’t smiling, he looked like he was forever uninterested.
But boy, how different he was to Rose now.
She looked up at the sleeping face resting next to her. She had fallen asleep facing him, hand in his, and now she woke up in the same position. James was on his side, facing her, his arm outstretched and resting softly on her hip while the other was tucked beneath his cheek.
Despite his intimidating appearance, Rose saw the softness in him.
He cared and he was loud with it. He was quiet with it.
He held her, carried her and stayed by her side.
This man whom she had known less than two weeks.
This man whom she had continuously endangered.
But had he ever complained?
Had he ever blamed her?
Not even when his family’s shop had burned down.
Not when he’d been hurt getting her out of the debris.
And definitely not when he had waited at her side in the hospital to wake up after.
Rose felt her cheeks heat at the memory.
“I have a thing about hospitals,” he had told her then. “When I was a kid, I woke up in one alone and it really did a number on me. Now I try to make sure that it doesn’t happen to others if I can.”
Rose had heard about James’s backstory enough to know about the fight that had landed him in the hospital, but that had been it. She hadn’t known that he had woken up alone, in the dark, feeling unloved. And that was why he had stayed with her then, a stranger.
He didn’t want her to wake up alone.
The warmth in Rose’s cheeks spread to her chest. She became less aware of how intimate they were in their closeness and instead focused on how she felt.
A few minutes later, she finally understood.
But when James started to stir, she decided to keep it to herself for a while.
As much as she appreciated the soft and warm, the last twenty-four hours—and honestly, the past several days—were still sitting heavy.
Especially now that she had a safe space to think on it all.
“You know, we could sleep in, and no one would care.” James’s eyes were still closed but his lips twitched like he wanted to smile.
Rose rolled her eyes on reflex. She eyed the window on the other side of the room.
“Tell that to your lack of blackout curtains,” she said. “I may be able to do a lot of things but sleeping in the sun only works for cat naps.”
James let out a little laugh and, in sync, the two of them stretched. His arm lifted from her hip, then they both rolled onto their backs like it was a daily routine.
“I’ve been meaning to get some, but I’m usually up and at the shop by six,” he said.
“Once I took over the shop’s day-to-day I realized it was easier to get some stuff done before it actually opened and before Mr. Donahue showed and got to chatting.
” He folded his pillow to prop himself up.
“Also, to be fair, no one’s complained about the lack of curtains, so I keep putting it off. ”
Rose’s eyebrow went up. She was about to ask how many people he had had in his room when the man cleared his throat.
“Which would definitely be because no one has ever stayed in my room before,” he clarified before she could ask. “Just in case you were wondering.”
Rose held in her smile but didn’t comment past that.
“There’s nothing to be shy about, Mr. Keller,” she teased. “We’ve all lived a life before now.”
What they were doing now felt normal.
What had happened the day before didn’t.
Rose doubled back.
“It’s Damon and Lloyd’s lives now that I don’t understand.” The tone shifted, and so did they. Rose sat up and James mimicked the move. Whatever warmth they had shared just being in one another’s company the night before chilled into calculations.
“Yesterday there was…a lot going on and I don’t think I really talked about how much of it bothered me. I mean the reasoning behind what had happened.”
Rose had given Liam, and by extension James since he hadn’t left her side once until they had gotten to his house, a play-by-play of everything that had been said and happened once Lloyd appeared on the dock. She had been matter-of-fact with the retelling. Now she was looking at the overall story.
“So, Lloyd came down the dock, Damon threw his gun into the water, and then tied me to the cinder block, all without talking. Lloyd tied Damon to the other one after that. Then Lloyd shot him and walked off. Just like that.” It had felt like watching a bizarre movie.
One left on mute until the gun went off and the force had pushed Damon’s body back into the water.
“And, while I have a lot of questions from all of that, Damon allowing himself to be shot is what gets me.
“He talked about being betrayed by someone he loves, but how was he betrayed?” she continued.
“He had a gun, he had time, he had drive, and yet, he just gave in. Threw his weapon away, let his feet be tied to concrete, and even let Lloyd help him to the edge of the dock before he was shot. And James, he smiled while it happened.” She shook her head, unable to shake the image.
“With me, Damon was angry. Full of rage. Then, at what he thought would be his death, he accepted it with what felt like happiness?”
She held up another finger, deciding she had enough questions to tick off points.
“Which leads me to the Lloyd of it all. You said he talked about heroes and how he understood now why Damon had been so angry. Then he killed himself? Why? Did he betray Damon? And what exactly was the betrayal? Getting me to the dock to try and kill me only for Lloyd to come out and take on Damon instead? If that’s true, then why didn’t he fight back?
Why did Lloyd just leave and do himself in like that? Why—”
Rose had been ticking off her points haphazardly. She had nine fingers up and was going for ten. James interrupted the move.
He took both of her hands in only one of his and pushed all three to the space on the bed between them.
She turned to meet his gaze. Green, brown and her new favorite, gold, took her in as quickly as his hand had.
“Sometimes, we just don’t get all of the answers.” His voice was deep velvet. Smooth, soft. “And the answers we do get, we might not get all at once.”
He squeezed the top of her hands.
“Whatever went down yesterday, it was the end of something so why don’t we honor that with starting something new today?”
Despite herself, Rose felt her eyebrow go sky-high.
“Something new?” she asked, mind pausing the merry-go-round of questions she had. “Like what?”
Belatedly, Rose realized just how close they were.
James’s lips turned up at the corners.
“Come downstairs and you’ll see.”
A few minutes later Rose met James in the kitchen.
There was coffee made and breakfast in progress.
She sat dutifully at the eat-in kitchen table, waiting for their something new to start.
James, however, didn’t explain and started to talk about a TV show Mr. Donahue had told him about while he finished cooking.
Rose tried to stay on task but found the conversation distracting. When he added his famous stuffed omelets? She forgot to ask again. Later, after they had moved to the couch to watch the show, she thought again about what he’d meant. That question was replaced again by idle chatter between them.
A few hours later, they were walking through the field behind the house, Rose following him as James talked about his goals for fixing up the house.
He had some landscaping ideas too for the front of the lot, but he didn’t seem keen on ever changing the back.
At least not the tall grass they were moving through.
He reached down on occasion to touch the grass, like a parent affectionately patting the head of their child.
Around then Rose thought about what he had meant by starting something new.
She ran her hand across the top of the grass and followed him instead.
She didn’t ask again.
* * *
THREE DAYS WENT by like that.
Simple days that were neither eventful nor boring.
They ate together, watched TV together, went on walks around the property together, and when it was time to sleep, they did that together too.
The first night this happened, they both used excuses of still being wary of everything that had been going on. The second night, those excuses were given with much less enthusiasm. The third night, it felt like habit.
James moved the covers for Rose to get in first—while she talked about whatever throwaway topic they had landed on for that moment—and then got into bed himself once she was settled.
He nodded and mmmhmmed at all the right places while plugging his phone in to charge and Rose put on her hand lotion before handing it over to him.
They kept their conversations going until the lights were off, but even after, they carried on for a few more minutes.
They fell asleep without touching, but that never held true for the mornings.
James always had an arm around or on her. Rose always had her face resting on him or against him while wrapped around his arm or leg. Or both, just as she had in the motel room.
And they never talked about it. Even as they detangled in the morning, neither one of them stated the obvious.
Or questioned why they weren’t questioning it.
Those three days and nights became routine. Comfortable and safe.
So when Doc Ernest’s daughter Lily called her the morning of the fourth day, Rose couldn’t help but feel a sense of loss.
“You told me to let you know if Damon Tillman had any visitors, and one finally showed up,” Lily said. “She’s talking to the doctor right now.”
“She?” Rose lowered her voice so James couldn’t overhear her from the kitchen. It was his turn to do the dishes.
Lily also lowered her voice.
“Yeah,” she said. “And she seems really upset.”
Damon had been moved out of the ICU the day before, but as far as Rose knew, he hadn’t woken up yet.
And he might not. She hadn’t gotten any more updates about him or the case since Liam and Blake had left the night they had brought Rose and James back.
Rose, however, had reached out to Lily before James had swayed her into taking a break from everything.
Lily’s answer had put her right back onto all her questions, all her concerns.
Rose came back to herself with guilt riding shotgun.
That guilt carried her to look into the kitchen.
James looked no less mighty rinsing dishes.
She could stand there, stand in that house, and be with him, and while the rest of the world went about its own business, she could be happy. Be content.
But she wouldn’t be Deputy Rose Little.
“If she starts to leave, try and stall her,” she told Lily. “I’m on the way.”