Chapter 7
CHAPTER
SEVEN
Rett
A sense of déjà vu washed over me the second I opened my eyes.
I really wasn’t one for experiencing things twice. I mean, most everything was terrible the first time, so why would I want a repeat?
‘Course, it never seemed to matter what I wanted. The universe had its own plans.
But the view was just the same as last time: white walls and a dark-wood nightstand with a lamp glowing on top. The bedding was whiter than snow, and I paused to inhale, coughing a little with the exhale and wincing at the soreness of my throat, ignoring both while searching… There.
The now-familiar acrid odor of charred paper and chemicals filled my senses. It was not a good scent, yet here I was, seeking it out.
I coughed again, noticing it was easier to detect than before, which was odd because the scent on my hoodie was fading.
Awareness crashed over me with the force of a tsunami.
I sat up, disregarding the protest in my limbs and the wooziness in my head.
Thoughts swimming, I recalled everything: the cardboard box, being pulled out of it, a cool cloth on my sweat-slicked skin, pills, water, the beeping of a thermometer.
Safety. Warmth. Skin on skin.
Him.
Arms falling at my sides, I glanced around the shadowy room, chest squeezing the longer I went without finding the man who’d held me. The catch in my breath was unavoidable when the room appeared empty.
“No,” I whispered, despair cracking me in two.
He’d left. Again.
I ducked my head, but out of the corner of my eye, something sparked. A tiny heartbeat suspended in the dark, a dull red-orange glow that pulsed with the faint sound of a smooth inhale. The flair was brief, flickering brightly before dimming to a dull smolder like a star fallen to earth.
With bated breath, I watched a fragile column of gray smoke drift upward, visible only for a moment before it vanished into the shadow surrounding it.
Heart pounding against my ribs, I turned restless despite sitting still as I stared transfixed at the glowing ember that pulsed again in time with his breath.
He’s here.
My eyes bore into the darkness, looking for the man behind that tiny spark, stomach bottoming out when the glow faintly illuminated thick fingertips and then the shape of a knuckle.
This man protected me, held me, clothed me, yet I still had no clear idea of his face.
“At this point, you could have three eyes and gills for ears, and I would still think you’re beautiful,” I murmured, so desperate for a glimpse.
The ember flared white-hot when he took another drag before completely snuffing out the glow against the windowsill. The floor-to-ceiling curtain concealed most of the glass and some of the man, and the rest was covered by night.
“Maybe that’s what you have.” He considered, the sound of his voice making me involuntarily shiver. “Gills for ears. That would explain why you didn’t do what I said.”
“What?” I asked, hoping he would step into the halo of light the lamp cast.
“I told you to stay out of trouble.”
“No. You told me to stop looking for you.”
He scoffed. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re homeless?”
“You didn’t ask.”
“I’m the witty one here,” he retorted.
“Come out of the shadows.”
“Why?”
Wasn’t it obvious? “Because I want to see you.”
“What’s your name?” he questioned, ignoring my request.
“Garrett,” I replied, knowing he’d probably already seen my ID. “What’s yours?”
“You don’t know?”
An inkling of a memory slid over me. How he seemed convinced I knew his name. But I didn’t. “I only know what you are to me.”
The room pulsed with something new. An energy I hadn’t felt before. Something intoxicating.
His voice was gravelly when it came out of the corner. “And what’s that?”
“A hero,” I said simply. “My hero.”
“I’m more like a nightmare,” he countered.
Not true. “Then why did you help me?” I asked.
Silence stretched between us. It felt fragile. I felt fragile, waiting for his reply.
“What do you want, Garrett?”
I released a breath. “For starters, to have a conversation with a man and not a ghost.”
He made a sound. “I am a ghost.”
“Because you always hide?”
“Because I show up unpredictably and disappear without a trace.”
“This time, you’re still here,” I whispered.
“I’m trying to decide what kind of game you’re playing.”
“I don’t have time for games. I’m just trying to survive.” Really, if anyone should have been suspicious, it was me.
His frame shifted enough for me to make out an outline. Definitely taller than me.
“Why are you homeless?”
If he was going to ask a million questions, then I was too. “Why won’t you let me see your face?”
A moment of silence stretched into two. The frayed edges of my nerves tickled my insides as I waited.
With a resigned sigh, he pushed out of the corner.
My heart skipped, sending ripples of awareness through the room as he moved not quite into the light but close enough that I could separate man from mere silhouette.
He wasn’t at all what I expected, not that I had many expectations at all. But even if I had, he easily surpassed anything I could have imagined.
He was all black on black on black—black pants, black shirt, and black leather jacket—making me wonder if he wore the shadows or if the shadows wore him.
Even his hair was inky, the long strands falling against prominent cheekbones, adding even more secrecy to softly hooded eyes so enigmatic that they were practically locked doors.
The only contrast between him and the night was a light beige complexion, its warm undertone preventing it from being stark.
As hungry as I was to look at the rest of him, I couldn’t convince my eyes to leave his face. Having felt like I’d waited eons to see him, I wasn’t about to look away, so we found ourselves in an unspoken staring contest of sorts, neither blinking or speaking.
“Keep staring like that and I’m going to get ideas.” His smoky voice broke the silence, but his eyes remained locked on mine.
The suggestive words matched with his husky tone had me gulping for air, which sent me tumbling into a hacking cough.
Eyes watering, throat screaming, I hunched over myself, burying the lower half of my face into my elbow.
That’s how I noticed I was wearing a shirt that wasn’t mine and simultaneously tried to inhale to catch its scent, which only made me cough harder.
Even as I wheezed, awareness prickled the back of my neck, watery eyes lifting to find a white mug floating right in front of my face.
It wasn’t the mug I found so interesting but the long, widespread fingers grasping the ceramic from the top.
His knuckles were scarred, nails short and blunt.
More interesting was the thick band hugging his pointer finger, made of what looked like dull silver, the edge ridged like it was his battered knuckles’ wingman.
His grip was confident, maybe a little barbaric, but when he nudged the cup closer, I realized it was handle out, making it easy for me to grasp.
My fingers protested when I wrapped them around the handle, and I glanced at my digits like I expected them to look anything but normal.
But they were just as they always were. Pale and weak compared to his. Their unimpressive normality made me feel like I was somehow gaslighting myself.
It’s just growing pains. Don’t be dramatic.
“Two hands.”
The gruff voice overhead interfered with the intrusive thoughts, and I glanced up. “Huh?”
“Two hands, Pip. I’ve already cleaned you up once.”
Scrunching my nose, I wrapped my other hand around the body of the cup, pulling my arms in so I could take a sip.
The water was room temperature and felt nice against my cottony mouth, but once it hit my throat, it turned to shards of glass.
Wincing, I swallowed gingerly, the full realization that I was sick finally hitting home.
I really shouldn’t have taken that shoveling job.
His large hand brushed against my forehead, and I stiffened, forgetting to breathe. Lifting my gaze, I met his watchful stare as his palm flattened while midnight eyes scrutinized my face.
I could feel my heartbeat in my ears by the time he pulled back and pursed his lips.
“How’re you feeling?” he asked.
“Uhh…” I stuttered. How was I supposed to be aware of anything but him? I could be half dead, and it wouldn’t even register. “Uh-huh.”
Smirking, he snatched something off the bedside table, and a light beep echoed through the room. “Open up.”
I stared at the wand in his hand, skeptical. “You just felt my head.”
“Open your mouth,” he said again, this time his eyes saying more than his lips.
My chin dropped, and he made a sound of satisfaction and slipped the metal-tipped thing beneath my tongue.
“Close.”
I did as he instructed but scowled so he knew I wasn’t happy about it. This thing was cold and—
The bed dipped as he sat down, my body sliding an inch closer to his.
Shock rendered me immobile, and his low laugh filled the room. “I’m gonna hold it. I don’t trust you enough not to spit it out.”
I found myself nodding, agreeing, even though it wasn’t true.
He barked a laugh, which settled into a smile, and all that black on black on black erupted into color. His smile. That smile. It was mesmerizing. A glimpse into a secret garden. An explanation of the extravagant gate he hid behind.
Something so genuine, so infectious, had to be on lockdown. Protected at any cost. Frankly, I was a little in awe that a guy like me with literally nothing was somehow suddenly gifted with so much.
Rapid beeping erupted between us, and he pulled the thermometer away.
“Wait.” I gasped, trying to grab it back. Grab him back.
“Slow your roll,” he cautioned, lifting it out of reach. “It’s done.”
“I’m not.” The words fell out as though my head were some kind of bag with a hole in it. Embarrassing.
“Like having things in your mouth, do you?” he quipped.
My face flamed, and it was good the thermometer wasn’t in my mouth still because it would likely explode.
“Ninety-nine,” he announced.
“That’s normal,” I said, relieved.