Chapter 17 Hazel
Hazel
The horrible stench of cat piss invaded my nostrils as I lifted my blanket on the couch.
It was almost midnight. My client, who had booked a full-sleeve outline for the day, had not only been an hour late, but also had a low pain tolerance, so our seven-hour appointment turned into a nine-hour one.
Genesis had offered to give me a ride home, but fallen ill with a stomach bug halfway through the day—poor thing—so I paid fifty bucks to get home through my rideshare app.
Luckily, my client had tipped well, but it was a long day, and I’d just wanted to get back to Skylar’s and pass out.
My hand brushed the wet spot of Lucifer’s “accident” as I tried to inspect how much it’d soaked through, and I jerked my hand back in disgust.
Skylar was already deep into her REM cycle, much like I was hoping to be soon after I lay down and shut my eyes, so I made sure my frustration didn’t cause any noise.
Throwing my hands through my hair, I tossed the blanket back down and walked into the kitchen, never quite making it there before I turned on my heel and strode back to the couch.
The smell seemed like it was following me, and that was when I realized that I had it on my hands. I’d touched my freaking hair and …
Ughhh! Gross!
I wished I could crawl out of my skin.
Tears sprang in my eyes as I lathered five pumps of soap on my hands in the kitchen sink, scrubbing hard, then dried them off and continued to pace. But that didn’t change the fact that my hair had remnants of Lucifer in it.
The lump in my throat grew bigger in size as my head filled with uncertainty. Where can I sleep tonight? How am I going to get to work without my car? What am I going to do about my finances? Where is my life headed? Who is this version of me who’s crying over freaking cat pee?
I knew it wasn’t just that making me emotional; I just felt so defeated. Everything was a mess. I was a mess. And my tools were limited in fixing any of it. Not on my own anyway.
Tears fell down my cheeks, a sob breaking loose from my throat. It was hard not to feel resentment in moments like this. Moments that wouldn’t be happening if my marriage hadn’t failed.
Things could be worse though. I could still be in that marriage. Unhappy. Scared. Lost.
I’d thought what Devan and I had was normal.
Every couple struggled a little here and there.
Sure, we argued. We disagreed. But then we made up.
The pattern would shift. We’d argue. Devan would either yell at me or ignore me.
I’d cry, waiting for him to stop or go to bed, wondering what I’d done wrong.
Then we’d make up. Until we stopped finding resolution at all.
I gave up trying to ask what I could do better and just apologized, even when I wasn’t sure what I was sorry for, hoping that would fix it. End it. But it never did.
I didn’t realize how isolated I was from everyone I knew and loved until Skylar came to visit me when Devan and I were living in Phoenix for a few years and opened my eyes to it. She saw the truth and how he treated me when we were in the comfort of our own home. When he thought she wasn’t looking.
It hadn’t started that way. The small arguments we had just grew bigger and bigger over the years. Comfort and security had loosened his words so that he no longer filtered out the hurtful ones.
Resentment could twist what you thought was a healthy, happy relationship into knots of lies, deceit, and … pain. Emotional. Mental. It all started to hurt the same.
But then you got so used to it that you grew numb and began to lose yourself. The reflection in the mirror no longer looked like your own, so much so that you stopped looking at all.
I was grateful I’d left before I grew numb to the physical pain.
One hit—one true hit—and I was done.
It was terrible that I had to label any hit as an honest one, but there were so many times Devan had pleaded with me that his strikes had been accidents.
That I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, that I was in the way, that he had just gotten frustrated and not known I’d been standing so close.
It hadn’t happened often—maybe only a handful of times—but when it did, he would be convincing enough for me to let it go.
And I always believed him. His excuses. His apologies, no matter how insincere they sounded.
I wasn’t sure if it was the undying affection and care he’d give me afterward that did me in or if he was just an Oscar-winning liar, but I sided with him every time. And I forgave him every time. Over and over and over.
Until the day I left.
There was no denying it. No lie he could come up with to cover it up. As much as it had rocked me to my core, it had woken me up to the truth. And for that, I was thankful.
But right now?
Right now, my resentment for him was fuel in my veins. I wanted to scream. To throw something. But instead, I cried.
Skylar’s words repeated in my head, willing me to accept Milton’s offer. Watching a cute dog in a massive house while raiding his fridge and borrowing his car in exchange for payment? He wanted to give me money for that? That wasn’t a fair trade. Not one I could feel good about anyway.
There were so many things wrong with it. Right?
For whatever reason, Milton was interested in me. His signs were not subtle. Even if there might be a teeny-tiny, sort of massive part of me that felt the same way about him, I didn’t like the idea of him buying my affection.
In some ways, his offer felt like a petty handout, but that was probably my ego talking, and pride certainly wasn’t going to pay my bills.
From what I’d gotten to know about Milton, he was genuine and sweet and respectful.
How could I question his intentions being anything other than pure?
One man’s mark didn’t mean another wielded the same blade, capable of inflicting the same wounds.
I wondered how long it would be before I no longer questioned if that was true or not.
I wanted to believe it. To trust a man like Milton.
And the best way to test that theory was to take a chance.
Six weeks. That wouldn’t be so bad. Right?
Who was I kidding? It’d be six weeks of blissful heaven!
No Lucifer.
No lumpy couch.
No Lucifer.
No tiptoeing in late at night.
No Lucifer …
Heart racing, I dug into my bag for my phone, found Milton’s number, and typed a message. The message.
Me: I’ll do it. Please tell me tonight isn’t too soon to start.
I shook my head as I pressed Send and stared at the text thread. Sure, I was desperate, but I hadn’t meant for it to be quite so obvious.
Thirty seconds went by. My screen dimmed, and I woke it back up, gripping it like it was my lifeline.
Shit.
He was probably asleep. Hell, he’d probably changed his mind or found someone else to watch his—
My phone suddenly vibrated with his reply, and I sucked in a breath.
Milton: I’ll leave right now to come get you. Does that work?
Excitement and relief filled my chest, a surge of energy rippling through me. Then I saw all my things lying around my bag and jutted out my lip in a pout.
Me: That’s sweet of you to offer, but I don’t think I’ll be able to carry all my stuff on the back of your bike.
Me: I can order a ride! Let me see how long it would be.
Milton: Not to worry. I have a car, Sunshine.
Me: A car, huh?
Me: And here I thought, you were prejudiced against anything with more than two wheels.
Milton: For her, I make an exception.
Me: Her?
Milton: Without a doubt.
Milton: You’ll see why when I get there.
Oh, right, duh. Because he was ON HIS WAY.
My chest fluttered.
Milton: I’ll be there in twenty minutes.
Shit. Twenty minutes? I had twenty minutes, and I smelled like cat piss?
I mean, this was what I’d asked for, isn’t it? An immediate out.
There was a pang of guilt for leaving so suddenly while Skylar was asleep. I could go and wake her to let her know, but once she got over the angry phase of being woken up, she’d sleepily tell me to go for it and update her in the morning.
I thought it’d be better to let her sleep and write a note instead. It seemed more personal than a text.
Once I finished, I stuck it to her coffee maker and frantically ran to gather my things. I spot-cleaned the couch the best I could and stuffed the sheet and blanket into a trash bag to wash later.
Tearing my clothes off, I ran into the bathroom to take a shower I knew I didn’t have time for, but there was no way in hell I was getting into Tic’s car, smelling like this.
When I got out, I grabbed whatever was at the top of my duffel for clean clothes, which was some sleep shorts and Milton’s T-shirt, and tossed everything of mine from the bathroom into a plastic bag.
Milton: Hey, I just pulled in. Can I come help you bring anything out?
Me: That’s okay! I’ll be down in a minute.
Milton: Take as much time as you need.
Droplets of water from my hair wet the tops of my forearms as I loaded them up with my belongings, waddling through the front door and locking it behind me as quietly as I could.
The straps from my bags were getting heavier with each floor I descended, which was luckily only three.
Bumping the two doors at the entrance open with my backside, I turned to find Milton leaning against the passenger side of some sexy old muscle car.
Fuck me. My mouth parted.
I wasn’t even going to pretend like I knew what make and model it was, but it looked as if it was brand-new.
The black-painted frame was sleek and polished, the tires shiny and perfect.
But, my God, it was almost unfair to have a man that fine leaning against such a fucking hot car.
His perfect smile. His blond hair, tucked beneath a black baseball cap.
The corded muscles of his bare arms, covered in ink, stretching the sleeves of his blue T-shirt.
I didn’t notice I’d stopped just through the doors, taking it all in, until he pushed off the side of his car to come and retrieve my bags.
“Damn, Sunshine. I could’ve helped carry this down for you.” His worried expression softened when he took in my clothes, my bare face, and my wet hair.
I wasn’t sure where the nickname Sunshine had come from, but I liked it. A lot.
“You look …” His gaze landed on my lips, and he swallowed.
I chewed on my lip, wanting to tell him how much I enjoyed looking at him too.
Taking a large inhale, he nodded over his shoulder. “Shall we?”
Following him to his car, I couldn’t help but run my hand along the polished paint with appreciation. I didn’t think it would leave behind faint fingerprint marks, and I instantly snatched my hand away when I noticed.
Milton’s expression was warm and carefree. “It’s okay. She won’t bite.”
I laughed nervously.
“Hell, you can write your name into the side of her if you want. I don’t care.”
“She’s pretty,” I told him, signing.
“Pretty?” he asked, mimicking the motion of my hand.
I dipped my head once to let him know he’d done it correctly.
Watching him toss my things into his trunk, I assured myself that everything would be fine. It was just six weeks. Six weeks of dog walks and house-sitting, though I wasn’t even sure what house-sitting entailed.
Watering plants?
Observing the structure of it?
Standing guard at the entrances with a baseball bat, making sure no one else entered the premises without permission?
I snorted at the thought right as Milton opened the passenger door for me. He quirked a brow in amusement and curiosity, but I waved him off and climbed inside.
When he got in on the driver’s side and turned the ignition, I felt the car roar to life beneath me as I breathed in the leather interior.
Between the smell, the brief and low sound of the rumble I could make out, and the view of Milton with his hand on the wheel and me next to him, my whole body was buzzing.
Caring for his dog was what I’d be focusing on—I knew that. I just found it funny that he’d made it sound a lot more taxing than it was because he wanted to disguise him doing me a favor as me doing him one. Milton was offering me six weeks of solace that I desperately needed.
I wasn’t sure why, but something told me that having me there was what he needed too.