7
HOUSTON
Room service is easierthan feelings. I order both.
Coffee. Tea. Fresh juice. Eggs every way, so no one has to pretend they’re not picky. Pancakes, French toast, bacon, sausage, steel-cut oats with toppings. A bowl of berries that actually tastes like berries. Avocado, toast, honey, jam. Yogurt, granola. Extra napkins. Real butter. Real maple syrup. Three carafes of water. I ask for it all on warmers and a stack of plates so it feels like a choice, not a lecture.
The suite is quiet. Early light. The Strip blinks like it forgot how to sleep in 1961. Salem is sprawled on the couch with one arm over his eyes, dead to the world. I’m pretty sure he hasn’t moved much in the night. Neither of us is good at sleeping in beds, so it wasn’t a surprise to wake up on a recliner.
My spine would have preferred the bed, though.
I knock once on her door, soft.
“Yeah?”
“It’s me.”
The lock clicks. She opens the door a few inches, hair messy, face clean, eyes clear in a way that tells me she slept.
“Hungry?”
“Maybe.”
“Good. I ordered breakfast and it should be here any minute.”
“Aiming for sainthood?”
I grin. “I’m shocked you can ask me that after last night.”
She rolls her eyes, but smiles. “I’ll put some pants on?—”
“Entirely optional.”
She shuts the door, and room service knocks. They roll in two carts lined with everything they offer. It smells like heaven. Breakfast is my favorite meal of the day.
Once they leave and she emerges in shorts and a tank top, we make our selections and sit at the breakfast table near the living room. My first thought is to check in. “Any changes since last night?”
“No.” A small sip of air. “I feel…wanted. Not like a problem. That’s new. And—” She rubs her thumb over her palm like she’s wiping off a word. “Free of him. Finally. I’m not sure what I want next.”
“You can takenextslow.” I keep my voice level. “First question is simple. Is it safe to go back for your things?”
Her mouth goes tight. “I think so. He leaves late. Sleeps late when he’s being a jackass.”
“I’ll go with you.”
She holds my eyes. “You don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
She nods once. “Then yes.”
Knox comes out of the den, hair a little wild, eyes steady. Salem doesn’t move.
I nod at him. “Ready for breakfast?”
Knox pours tea. He thanks me without words. He’s not a morning person.
Lou asks, “Are we gonna wake Salem?”
