He eyed me for a moment, then seemed to make a decision and nodded. “Alright, then. I’ll finish the meal while you’re warming yourself.”
“Brodie.” He stopped in the doorway and looked back; eyebrow raised.
“Yes?”
“Are there...did you bring my clothes?”
“In the cabinet there.” He gestured to a door in the bedroom, then left, closing the bedroom door behind him.
Curious, I stopped the flow of water and went to investigate my clothing options. The closet yielded several pair of neatly hung leggings, jeans, and tee-shirts, all with the tags still attached. A shelf boasted a see-through plastic basket containing several packages of underwear, socks, and plain, serviceable bras. I didn’t see any shoes, other than a pair of woolen house shoes.
Maybe if I asked nicely, he’d get me a sturdy pair of boots and some outerwear. And perhaps the keys to his vehicle while he was at it. Scoffing, I gathered a few articles of clothing and headed back to the bathroom.
I stripped quickly and sank down into the tub of warm water, letting out a low moan as my frozen toes smarted upon contact. Closing my eyes and resting my head against the curved iron surface, I endured the burn and drifted.
I needed a plan to get out of here. I had no phone, unless he had kept my purse. I had no shoes, which meant I would have to use a vehicle. I didn’t know where his keys were, but I suspected they were on his person. Brodie was a lot of things, but he wasn’t an idiot.
I would have to wait for an opportunity.
It wasn’t long before Brodie’s brisk knock came at the door. “Food’s ready.”
I hummed a wordless response, then roused myself to sit upright, water sloshing around me. “Give me a minute.”
Minutes later, I was dressed and in the kitchen, my hair turbaned to keep it from dripping on the thin black material of the long-sleeved tee I wore. I peered around Brodie’s back as he stood at the stove. He was slathering butter on biscuits and piling them on a plate. An offer to help almost escaped; then I remembered I was not here of my own free will. “Coffee?” I asked, instead.
He pointed with the butter knife and I poured a cup, easily locating sweetener and cream. I carried it to the table and started to sit, then cursed myself silently and returned to the carafe. Blaming my mother, I poured a second mug and set it on the table, as well. “Fucking manners,” I grumbled.
“What’s that?” Brodie set two plates piled high with more food than I could eat in a week down, then sat across from me and dipped his head toward the plate. “Eat.”
Rather than respond to his question, I ate. Surprisingly, I was hungry. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been hungry. It had been the opposite problem since The Incident, resulting in an ill-temper and clothes that no longer fit the way they should.
Although, I supposed my bitchiness could be attributed to other things.
It was then I remembered my journal. I’d been aggravated by Michael’s edict that I write in it, but had fast discovered doing so helped. I was no less angry, no less panic-stricken, and no less heartbroken by my loss of self, but I was coping with that anger and fear and grief much more productively. And if anything did happen to me…perhaps someone would open an investigation.
I needed it. The last time I’d seen it had been the other day— yesterday? —at the Bourbon. It had been flung out of my purse and I had collected it from the ground, put it back.
Clearing my throat, I set my fork on the lip of my plate. “I need my purse.”
Brodie didn’t break stride with his food. “Why?”
“I’d like my Chapstick.”
“There’s a tube in the jacks.”
“And a tampon.”
“Entire box under the sink.” He lifted his gaze to me and smirked. “Multi-pack.”
Heat burned in my cheeks.Bastard.“Hair bands.”
With a sigh, he set his own fork down and sat back in his chair as he regarded me steadily. “Why don’t you just cut the bullshit and tell me what you really want?”
“My meds and my notebook. I need it.” What if he had seen it? Read it? It was private. I felt myself shrivel at the thought that it was floating around somewhere, beyond my control, open to whoever might be curious.
“You can do without that numbing shite.”
“No, I—”
