What Have I Done?
RILEY
The room is warm when I wake up. And it smells different too.
The thought that he might have spent the night in here, watching over me, makes me smile as my eyes slowly open.
I look around, and the first thing my eyes land on is the photo frame on the nightstand. Easton on the ice, from a game.
I’m in Easton’s bed. And I just had the best night’s sleep of my life.
Oh god, this is not happening.
But it is, because everything from last night arrives in pieces. The couch. The credits rolling. The way I shifted on his lap, the laugh dying in his throat, and the four words I said with my hand on his chest.
I want to forget.
The way he had carried me up the stairs after, and I had said stay in the dark, half asleep, and felt him lie down on top of the covers next to me.
I sit up too fast.
The sheets slide off, and the cold reminds me of the second thing. I'm naked.
I'm naked in Easton’s bed, with my body still humming in the small specific places his mouth was last night, and the smell of him on the pillow beside me, and a faint soreness in my hip that is its own evidence.
I close my eyes.
Oh, God.
His hands on my waist when I shifted. The careful, slow way he kissed me before he let me have anything else. Tell me what you want, baby. My back arching off the couch when his mouth found my throat.
A shudder racks my entire being, and my core clenches. I bite hard on my bottom lip to hold the moan threatening to spill.
I need to get out of here. This did not happen. No, it did not.
I shove the duvet back, get out of bed, and yank one of his t-shirts off the chair where he must have left it. I pull it over my head with shaking hands. The hem hits my thighs. The cotton smells like him.
That is when I see the nightstand.
There is a note. There are fresh shorts folded next to it, and there is a paperback.
I lower myself slowly back down onto the edge of the bed.
The note is handwritten.
Hi Sweetheart,
I’m off to practice. Will be back around noon. There’s coffee in the kitchen; breakfast will arrive by nine-thirty. I ordered something for you. The bed is yours for as long as you need. Also, the book was meant to be a surprise a few days ago.
E.
I read it twice.
I look at the book. James Hadley Chase. A different title. Slightly battered cover, the kind of paperback that has lived on someone’s shelf for years.
A few days ago.
He bought me a book before the kiss. Before I climbed into his lap on his couch and asked him to make me forget.
He bought me a book when the only thing he had learned about me was that I enjoy reading Hadley Chase, and he had walked into a bookstore on his way home from practice and picked up another one.
My heart skips.
It shouldn’t. Not like this or at this time, but it does.
My hand goes to my mouth, and my lips tingle. The memories hit because I feel it. All of it. His kisses… his gentleness. The way that gentleness turned commanding.
My stomach clenches, like I’m reliving it all over again.
And that’s my cue to go. Be out of his bed, and wash it all off.
I scoop the shorts off the nightstand, hold them against my chest like armor, and make my way down the hall to the guest bathroom because if I shower in the master right now, I will lose what is left of my composure.
The water is hot. Hot enough to scald off the memories from last night.
I get out. I put on the shorts and the t-shirt from his bedroom, and towel-dry my hair. I leave it to air-dry.
When I’m done, I sit on the bed. My eyes dart to my phone, and I grab it without a second thought.
I need a distraction. A reminder that the world is still happening outside this house. A reminder of all the reasons I should not be doing this with the man I just woke up in bed with.
I’m about to unlock the screen when the doorbell rings.
My heart skips. A gripping fear travels down my spine.
I know it’s not Easton. He’s never used the doorbell. So who could it be?
Preston.
My throat suddenly dries, and I feel the lump forming. My pulse skitters, charged by my erratically beating heart.
He’s found me. Through the pictures. He’s dug his way…
A million and one thoughts cross my mind.
The bell rings again.
I’m out of the room before I can think. I need to confirm. To decide my next line of action. I’m down the stairs, and in the living room, a foot from the door, when a soft knock comes, accompanied by a feminine voice.
“Easton?”
I stand very still.
“Easton, sweetheart, it’s me.”
An overwhelming need to see the woman who calls Easton sweetheart seizes me.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I cross the room, reach for the handle, and pull the door open.
She’s older, almost a spitting image of Easton, except with blonde hair. She looks to be in her mid-fifties, dressed in a soft coat over jeans. There’s an overnight bag at her feet.
And there’s only one conclusion.
His mom.
“Hello?”
There is a brief silence. Then a smile.
“Oh. Hello.” She sounds sweet and kind.
“Is Easton home?”
“He's at practice.”
“Oh, Yes. Yes, of course.” A small laugh. “I forgot how early morning practice runs. I'm his mother. Caroline Blake. I'm sorry, I should have led with that.”
My assumption is right.
“I’m Riley...” I pause, suddenly unsure how exactly to define my relationship to Easton. “His house guest.”
Caroline looks confused for only a second before her warm smile returns.
“I’m sorry to drop in like this. I should have called him first.” She laughs softly. “Actually, I would have called him, except I knew exactly what would happen. He’d tell me he was fine, that I didn’t need to come, and by then I’d already have booked the ticket.”
She tilts her head slightly.
“He called me a few days ago. He sounded mostly like himself. Then he said something about making a decision he wasn’t sure he had it in him to make.” Her smile softens. “He sounded worried. So I decided to come check on him.”
“Oh…” What decision was Easton talking about? Was it about me?
“Could I come in for a minute? I mean until he returns, at least.”
I step back.
“Oh, of course. I'm sorry. Please come in.”
She picks up her bag and steps inside.
She closes the door behind her, gently. We walk into the living room, and she drops her bag by the side and takes off her coat, draping it over the arm of the sofa.
“Coffee?” I offer, with a small smile.
“I’d appreciate that, honey.” She returns a warm smile, and I lead her to the kitchen.
She sits on the kitchen island, and I go to the machine to pour us some coffee.
“It's a beautiful house.”
“It really is.”
She nods thoughtfully. “He bought it about six months ago. Very suddenly, too.” Her fingers trace the edge of the countertop. “One day he called me and said he'd found a place, and the next, he'd signed the papers. It was so unlike him.”
She grows quiet for a moment. “He never told me why, but... it felt like he couldn't bear being in his old house anymore. Like something had happened there that he couldn't stand to look at every day.”
She lets out a small sigh and glances around again.
“And then he moved in here... but never really moved in.” A fond, wistful smile touches her lips.
“He bought a beautiful house, but he never made it into a home.
I've always wondered if he was trying to outrun something...
or simply didn't know how to settle anymore.”
Her gaze flicks back to me, and a knowing smile curves her lips. “But I see he’s finally getting some use out of it.”
Heat climbs up my neck, and I look at the coffee mugs.
“Milk?” A deflection to cut the conversation.
“Please.”
A minute later, I place the cup on the counter before her. She wraps her fingers around it.
“Thank you, Riley. It’s nice to meet you.”
“It's nice to meet you too, Caroline.” I return her smile.
The cup barely makes it to my lips when the doorbell rings.
I jump. Caroline doesn't, but she notices.
“I… would you like me to get that?” she offers, and I don’t know what to say.
“I will… I…”
“It’s okay, honey. Let me.” She heads for the door and pulls it open. “A breakfast delivery?” she calls over her shoulder.
“Oh.” I let out a small laugh. “Easton ordered it for me before he left.”
Caroline grabs the bag and closes the door. The smell of warm pastry follows her in, and when she sets it on the counter, my tummy does the most embarrassing thing it can think of.
It rumbles.
She throws her head back and laughs. A wave of mortification hits me at first, but it quickly ebbs away because I find it funny too. I laugh with her.
“It happens at the worst possible time, huh?” she says when her laughter finally dies.
“Tell me about it.”
I reach for the bag and start unloading. Two croissants in their own paper sleeves. A small fruit cup. A yogurt and a separate sleeve of granola. A breakfast sandwich wrapped in foil.
I look down at the spread, and then up at Caroline.
“It's enough for two. Would you eat with me?” It i'sn't really a question. I'm already sliding a croissant onto a plate.
I sit back down.
We eat.
For a while we don't talk. She breaks her croissant with her fingers and eats it delicately. I’m transfixed. She has this air about her… it screams of calmness.
“Thank you for having me, Riley.”
I smile and shake my head. “Oh no, I should thank you for the good job you’ve done with your son. He’s been… the friend I didn’t know I needed. Thank you.”
She smiles. I feel something in my chest unclench by half an inch. We eat for another minute in companionable silence.
After a while, she sets her mug down and looks down at her hands, and her smile softens into something more complicated.
“Easton has always been that way. I can’t take the credit for it. He’s been his own kind of person since he was a kid, and it just amazes me.”
“He’s amazing,” I say before I can stop myself.
The look Caroline gives me is immediate. Equal parts interest and intrigue.
Uh-oh. I can practically see the wheels turning in her head.
“Tell me, how did you meet? He’s never mentioned you in our Sunday calls.”
And there, it is. The question with the crazy answer.