CHAPTER FOUR
ADORA
I wake to the incessant buzzing of an insect that just won't leave my head alone. But no matter how much I slap at the thing, it refuses to go away. Sighing, I shove up from the warmth of the pillow haven that I’ve managed to sink into and crack my eyes open—
To find the Texan desert vista has changed significantly since the sun rose what looks like at least a few hours ago. Plus, the insect isn’t an insect after all, even though the sound is still annoying.
The desert floor isn’t only rocks and dirt like I thought last night when I tripped over the things and Hendrick held me up in his quiet way for what felt like hours.
Scraggly shrubs populate the desert floor, and further out, rock formations change the sky line from blues to oranges and reds in carved shapes and flat tops.
I stare at the movie worthy water landscape and wonder what era Hendrick has dropped us into. But the stunning vista isn't the only droolworthy thing about the view.
Hendrick rides around a herd of horses astride a black motorbike that’s seen better days. His checked shirt is undone, the open panels flapping over a black singlet beneath.
The path he carves around the animals that should be running scared and skittish flows like water. Both he and the herd are comfortable and it’s clear he’s done this many times before. The noise of the bike is the only thing I can hear, but it fades into insignificance as I watch him.
And it hits me that this isn’t just a place that he’s brought me after the mess of last night. That the reason this house is so well stocked, and why the animals know him, is that this place—
It’s his.
I slip out of the bed he’s leant me, pattering across the floor in bare feet, suddenly unwilling to make sound on what feels like hallowed ground.
Cool morning air that holds the edge of a hot day promised later on swirls around me as I push open a door that leads outside.
Hendrick said not to go too far without him.
Well, he’s out here, isn’t he? So this qualifies.
He finishes moving the horses to their new destination as I watch, closing off a gate.
One wickers at his hand. He shakes his head, then puts his hand into his pocket and withdraws something that the horse dives for.
Suddenly he’s surrounded by horses all straining over the wire.
I snuff out a laugh, letting my bare feet rest at the edge of the veranda’s raw boards.
My movement seems to catch his eye. Hendrick looks around, stilling when he sees me at the back of the house, the solitary building set in the literal middle of nowhere.
He waits a heartbeat longer, then detaches himself from the horses and climbs back on the bike.
A breath later, he heads back toward me.
The bike pulls up, slower than he rode it before with less dust involved near the open house.
“You’re up.”
I nod, swallowing on what I expect to be a sore throat. The pre-empted pain doesn't come. “Good morning,” I manage, to his raised eyebrows.
“Good morning, Adora. Have you had tea?"
Remembering last night’s debacle, I shake my head, wishing my hair isn’t up so I can hide behind it. N0thing is there between us for me to hide behind as heat flushes my face. If Hendrick recalls the moment or is embarrassed, he doesn’t show anything. My chest loosens and I exhale.
“Go, make something.”’ he says softly. “I’ll put the bike away, then I’ll show you where everything is for breakfast, if you like.”
“Yes, please.” My voice fades by the end of the second word, its strength already fading. But we spoke, and that…
Seems important.
Hendrick revs the bike and peels away, leaving a small trail of dust in his wake. The horses he fed before offer snorts and blows. I understand their language as I turn and head back into the house.
The tea cupboard is a mess. Hendrick clearly threw everything back in last night after I walked away from him. My cheeks burn anew at the memory. I stack everything in the most logical order I can in the best form of a silent apology I can make.
“That’s a better job than I made of it last night. Thank you.”
His step is so light that I don't hear him come in, or maybe that's by design. I look over my shoulder and smile, saving my voice for later because I know he’s going to ask.
In his place, I would.
“Can I feed you?” He’s closer now. “I thought you might not have been eating out of fear.”
Hendrick doesn't mince his words. I imagine there are people he has protected who would hate what he just said. Part of me rejects what he says straight away. But also I don’t want to admit that the fear isn’t what's stopped me from functioning at all, so I let him keep thinking that. It’s easier.
I drop my hands to the counter, gripping the cool surface tight that doesn’t yield beneath my touch, but that’s as close as he comes. When he doesn't speak again, I nod.
“Good. The file says you’re not allergic to anything. Is that right?”
Another nod.
“And preferences. What do you hate? I don’t want to make you something you won’t eat. Or, that you’ll eat to make me happy.” A bitter note laces his voice.
I tip my head to the side. This is a man speaking from experience. “Eggs.”
“Yes or no?”
“No.”
“Meat?”
“Chicken only. Please,” I add, my volume faint and thready at best.
A large hand presses to my lower back. “You’re doing great, Adora. Will you help me?”
His touch is warm and steady and safe. A smile spreads over my face, and I don’t need to nod before he passes cups into my hands.
For the first time in months, I feel useful.
My teacup sits empty between my hands. I get the impression that I need to do a little more work to earn another refill.
Hendrick shifts his chair to face me head on.
I twist, shielding my body and pull my hair out of its bun from my shower last night.
Some of the strands are still damp, and they coil loosely to my waist.
His fingers twitch on the table top, and he grabs for his phone, opening the screen to a notes app. “Alright, love. I need to know everything about your little problem.”
The corner of my mouth flickers. My little problem shot him last night after my last performance.
He still hasn't seen a doctor, and he was stitched up the night before by a friend in the back of my car.
My dress was ruined and I thought that someone else died because of me.
The memory of the color splash at the sound still assaults my senses.
“Adora.” Hendrick’s hand covers mine on the table. “I’m sorry, love. I know it’s hard. But I need you here, with me.”
My gaze flickers up to meet his. There’s a question there, but also intent. He’ll find out who did this, and they won’t go far after that. “I understand.”
“Good.” He sits back, retracting his touch.
I want to laugh. The stupid sheet with its stupid rules was Athena’s idea. It’s become something of a god-level diva response to everything over the years, a standard response to send out to everyone and everything.
Not one of those rules were ever mine. They were created, just like Adora was created.
A cover for a personality who isn’t real.
But this is, and I don't understand what I’ve done to hurt someone.
Hendrick will find out, though and that does matter.
So I’ll help him. And then I’ll go back into hiding behind the fake persona that has become my own. Replacing the person as before.
Hiding her.
“Will you tell me?” Hendrick asks, softening his voice. “Who, Adora?”
I stare at him helplessly. “This is no one." I won’t last, not if he asks stupid questions like this.
Hendrick frowns. “A jilted best friend, an old agent? What about the last boyfriend or five that you dated? If it’s easier, write it down. But I’m better if you tell me everything and I'll remember. It’s… my skill. Like you and playing your instrument."
The mention of my absent harp slices through me. I glance toward the door at the opposite end of the house, but it remains closed and locked. No such joy there, not yet.
“Soon, love,” Hendrick soothes me. “Who else?”
I shake my head. “There’s no one.”
“Anyone who you’ve fought with? Anyone you've broken up with?”
I shake my head again and again as he keeps talking.
My hands rise, cupping my eyes. “No one!” I whisper-shout, my voice straining already.
My breath comes in heavy pants as I push my chair back.
Elbows plant on my knees as I lock my fingers through my hair, letting it swing over my face, hiding. From him, from the world.
“Adora,” he murmurs. Warmth hovers near my thighs, but he doesn't touch me, thankfully, or else I might erupt on him. “I’m sorry. I pushed you.” Already.
I shake my head, my exhaustion settling soul deep. “Big girl,” I mumble. “Should—” I sigh.
“N, you shouldn’t.” Hendrick hesitates a moment, muttering something under his breath. “Would you like a hug?” he asks. A question that he doesn't voice lilts his tone.
I stare at the space between my feet where they are toe to toe with his socks, and nod, leaning forward a fraction.
He huffs a laugh, wrapping his arms awkwardly around the hunched over form of me. I stay that way with him, letting him hug my hunch, and tuck myself into the hollow cavity of his chest. There’s warmth there, and space. Strength that’s a comfort, rather than a threat.
Protection. An offer, and an acceptance. I inhale all of him until my confusion clears and my lower back strains a little. Then I nod, and he lets go.
“Better?” Hendrick doesn't move any farther, waiting on me. I turn my empty tea cup about in a circle, tired of nodding. He seems to get it. “When did it start, Adora? The threats.”