I pack the food into the fridge and take another shower, washing a day of heat, travel, and cooking from my skin. I’m tired. I haven’t caught up from the twenty hours it took me to get here.
But I’m wired too. Vermont is beautiful, and the produce is out-of-this-world good. My boss is cool, and the money he wants to pay me will put a dent in the debt I’ve carried since I was an unmedicated teenager makingallthe mistakes. It’s everything I need, and it’s easy.
There’s no excuse for fucking it up.
Not even for me.
I shut off the shower and let my head hang, water dripping from my overlong hair into my face, blurring my vision. My cousin used to tell me I had the best excuse for fucking everything up. And the perfect escape plan: move on and don’t look back. But it’s been a long time. The fuck-ups have grown less, but the itchy feet remain, and the sensation of imbalance, of imagined pressure, is a strange one.
Kai’s put fresh towels in the bathroom. I claim one, rub the water from my hair, then wrap it round my waist.
I open the bathroom cabinet. Kai’s Xanax bottle still stands lonely on the shelf, but I thought of that when I came upstairs and stuffed my own meds in my pocket.
My clothes are abandoned on the floor. I rummage through them until the packet falls into my hand, then I place it in the cabinet next to Kai’s. I don’t know how often he’s swallowing a Xanax. Maybe it’s an old prescription and it’s none of my business, but…I want to know more than makes sense for a man I met twenty-four hours ago.
I shut the cabinet and leave the bathroom.
One step into the hallway and it hits me that the apartment is no longer empty. There is no sound, save the ticking clock on the wall, but I spot Kai’s boots tucked away by the front door and his utility belt on the bureau.
He’s home.
It shouldn’t be that big of a deal. I saw him two hours ago. And until yesterday, I’d had no fucking clue he walked the same earth as me. But something settles in me when he appears in the living room doorway. “Hey.”
Kai opens his mouth. Shuts it again, his honey-brown eyes fixed in a stare.
Fixed onme.On my damp chest as water drips from my skin onto the hardwood floor. “Shit, sorry. Thought I was drier than that.”
I let the towel slip a bit to blot up the mess.
Kai makes a strange sound, and when I look up again, he’s gone.
Okay, then. Maybe mess bothers him more than he wanted to admit last night. I wipe every last drop of water from the floor and continue to my room, not taking a breath until I’m safe inside with the door shut behind me.
My room already looks as if a hurricane has passed through. The few clothes I have are spilling out of my open bag, my bed is unmade, and every available surface is covered with notes and paperwork from the whirlwind of menu planning I’ve tumbled into. It’s organized chaos, mostly. But it’s the best I can do.
Still, I make my bed. Dress in my sweats and shove the rest of my clothes back in my bag.
Shirtless, I leave my room again. I’m hungry. Despite being immersed in food all day, I didn’t eat much. A taste here and there. A critical bite. It’s not the same as a meal, and I have a second pill to take before I go to bed—if it’s even that time yet. Somewhere along the line, I’ve lost track.
You just walked past a clock, dickbrain.
And my phone is in my pocket, but it doesn’t occur to me to look. Sometimes, for me, ADHD is literally just not doing the simple things that would make my life easier. The thought of common sense becomes paralyzing, so I ignore it and struggle instead.
Find the logic in that, cos I can’t.
I go to the fridge and retrieve the foil-wrapped scotch eggs. A glance at the kitchen window reveals the sun setting over the pretty Burlington streets below. Tables from the kicking restaurants and bars have spilled onto the pavement with glowing lights, music, and buzzing chatter. I can smell food too, good food, and my stomach growls, but I have the solution to that in my hand.
The living room is dark and still, blinds closed. I take my supper to the squishy leather couch and let some manmade light in, taking in the same view of Church Street. Some random dude in sparkly tights is juggling Coke bottles. He’s not bad, but I’ve seen better. I watch him a while, waiting for the fuck-up, but I’m tired, and my gaze wanders, picking up snaking thoughts I don’t have the energy for.
There’s a place down the road that serves fish and chips, the one dish my boss insisted on when he found out I was legit British. And, hey, look, I can cook that shit in my sleep, for two people or two hundred. Blindfold me. Tie a hand behind my back. But self-doubt is a toxic parasite I can’t always ignore. I cook without apology, but what if it’s not enough? What if no one wants to buy what I’m selling?
It’s about more than battered fish, and I know it. Imagined rejection is dysphoric as fuck and it makes my skin crawl, partly because Iknowit’s not real, and partly because it’s just fucking yuck. Who am I worried about? Jax loves me—it’s why I’m here, and I’m coming to learn that simple fact is enough for Tanner. And who else is there? Molly’s a stranger with a cute smile. And Kai…fuck.
I don’t know how to describe my roommate. His smile is a thousand times sweeter than Molly’s. His eyes rounder.
Brighter.
Deeper.
