Although…
I peek over my crossed arms toward the bolt on the inside of the bedroom door. Tristan wasn’t joking about that part. He really put screws in his guest bedroom door for me so that I can lock him out, but he can’t lock me in. I checked before I stepped inside, but the handle is a plain interior knob, with no holes for keys. As long as I’m in this room, I’m the only one who can decide who comes and goes.
Nobody’s ever changed their world to make room for me. Maybe I’m allowed to take up a corner of someone’s life without earning it first. Tristan thought of that, and he followed through without prompting. That, more than anything, is the reason I agreed to stay.
I didn’t mean to fall asleep so early. Yesterday afternoon, I unpacked my things, set up Kepler’s food, water, and litter pan, and then… apparently, I sacked out. I missed dinner, and I desperately need a shower. I take a clean set of clothes, unlock the door, and venture into the hallway in search of the guest bathroom.
The door is right across the hall from mine. I flick on the lights, but when I try to force myself to step inside, I panic. The bathroom is pristine. The hand towel looks untouched. There’s a fluffy white towel draped over the handle of the shower’s sliding glass door, which has been polished so that there’s not a hint of soap scum or droplets in sight. The roll of toilet paper is brand new, the soap is still in its plastic wrapping, and there’s a fresh tube of toothpaste laid out alongside an unopened toothbrush aligned with the edge of the sink. Even the mirror of the medicine cabinet is pristine.
I don’t know what to do. I don’t know where to put my hairbrush. I don’t know what I’m allowed to touch or open, or if the towel’s for me, or if I’ll get in trouble for getting hard water on the shower stall—
I’m going to mess it up, and I’ll have to leave, but Dante took my car, and nobody else wants me, and I don’t know where else to go.
The realization, and the accompanying sense of helplessness, blasts through me with the force of a runaway train. I drop into a crouch and pull the hem of my shirt up in the faint hopes of calming my breathing. Then I’m reminded ofhow much I need a shower, because Istink, which only makes it worse. I hiccup out a sob and squeeze my eyes closed. I need air.
I need rules.
I need a routine.
I need to get out of here.
“Whoa, hey.” A large, warm presence settles down beside me. “Hey, Minnie, deep breaths. Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
“N-no?” Shit, shit, I’m going to cry.Don’t be mad, Tristan. Don’t explode. Luca always hated it when I cried. Dad hated it more. Frankie, of course, relished any hint of weakness. Mom would pretend it wasn’t happening. Now Tristan is going to know that I’m weak and weird and unable to regulate, if he didn’t already.
He sits down in the hall beside me. “Damn, they really did a number on you, huh?” His voice is gentle and kind, not at all what I was expecting.
“What?” I open one eye.
“Your family. I’m guessing that’s why… Never mind, you don’t have to talk about it.” Tristan sighs. “Can I touch you?”
I nod, because I don’t have it in me to argue. Luca would use this chance to hurt me. I imagine his hand closing around the back of my neck, grabbing me, moving me like a doll.
Tristan’s hand settles between my shoulder blades, and he rubs steady circles there. I realize that he’s deliberately breathing deep and slow, which is the same thing I do when I’m trying to calm Kepler down after another family blowup.
“Want to tell me what happened just now?” he asks. “I don’t need to know anything you don’t want to share. Did I buy the wrong kind of shampoo?”
I lower my hands to stare at him.
He sighs. “Sorry, I was trying to be funny. I can tell it’s more than that, but you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”
“I just, um.” I don’t know how to explain why I panicked. I’m pretty sure normal people don’t cry because of packaged soap and fresh toilet paper. “I need to know the rules. Gimme a minute. So I can take notes.”
Tristan smiles. “It’s just some hockey player’s bachelor condo. There are no rules.”
My voice drops an octave. “There are always rules.”
“Then how about this one—you don’t have to impress me. Just be you. That’s all I want. And I’m barely here anyway. You’ll have the place to yourself most of the time. You and Kepler.”
That sounds too good to be true. Rather than opening that particular Pandora’s box, I nod toward the bathroom. “What am I allowed to touch?”
“Whatever you need?” Tristan cocks his head, sounding as uncertain as I do.
“But it’s so clean.” I know I’m not making sense, not in this new world with unfamiliar rules.
“Because I cleaned it.” He chuckles and lets his hand drop. I already miss the warmth of his touch, which is strange, both because I usually hate to be touched, and because everyone else in my life is socold. “Last night, you’d have been horrified. Most of my friends are hockey players, and the toilet alone would have given you nightmares. And the stuff is new because I bought it for you.”
“When?”
