After a painfully quiet moment of the three of us standing in place staring at each other, I decide to let Bobby come upstairs with me. My muscles are sore from a long day of crouching and scrubbing, and I want nothing more than to change out of my stiff jeans and collapse onto my mattress. Or the rocking chair . . . Nothing like sprawling out on your bed to send a guy the wrong message.
“Come on,” I say, turning toward the stairwell. “I’m exhausted.”
He offers Claire a small wave and trails up the steps until we reach the top level. I stick my key in the door before shoving it open. For half a second I’m busy looking down at my pocket as I tuck the key back inside, but when I finally bring my gaze up, I swear my heart leaps out of my body. My hand flies over my chest as though the gesture could keep it in place.
It’shim. Death is standing—no,pacing—in the center of my room, stalking back and forth like a panther guarding its territory.
Chapter 17
Without thinking, I snatch the knob and slam the door shut in my own face. My breathing is heavy, and I’m still staring at the door when I hear Bobby’s voice right behind me.
“Hey,” he says, making me jump. His voice is soft, but when I spin around to face him, he’s looking all around like he’s trying to figure out what in the hell he just missed. “You okay?”
“I—yeah, I’m fine,” I manage, glancing back at my closed door. What in the world is he doing in my room? And while I was gone, too. My legs suddenly feel stiff, my chest tightening.
After a brief pause, Bobby shakes his head and grabs the knob. Before I realize what he’s doing, he’s pushing the door open and stepping inside. My jaw drops, the blood draining from my face as I wait for him to take in the man stalking my room. Except he doesn’t. Instead, he walks right into the middle of the room, stops a mere two feet away fromhim, and turns back to face me, an easy smile forming on his face.
“All clear,” he says, oblivious. He tugs at the bottom of his shirt, fanning it as he lets out a low whistle. “Feels like a fuckin’ sauna though. You comin’ in?”
Oh my god. Bobby can’t see him. It’s no wonder he canfeelhim, though. His presence, his heat, warms the entire room more effectively than my damn fireplace would if it were lit. My feet apparently don’t notice, though, because I’m pretty sure they’ve turned into blocks of ice—I can’t seem to move them. I’m too busy gawking at the strange scene taking place before me.
While Bobby watches me, hands now in his pockets, eyebrows furrowed, and an amused smile tugging at his lips, Death has stopped moving completely. A good four or five inches taller than my ex, not to mention broader, he’s eying Bobby like an annoying little bug that deserves to be squashed. He runs a large hand through his dark hair, lip lifting in a snarl, then shifts his attention to me.
It’s not until then that I get a full look at the expression on his face, and it is not a friendly one. His eyes are furious, narrowed as though he might kill the first living thing that gets close enough, and his lips are set in a grim line.
“Lou?” Bobby asks, reminding me I still haven’t moved from the doorway. He lifts an eyebrow. “I’ve known you since high school, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wig out like this before. What’s goin’ on?”
“Um…” What am I supposed to say?Well, so this one time, I died and met this guy who goes by Death, and he’s kind of standing right next to you. Oh, and he looks like he might kill one of us. Or both. No big deal. Yeah, not gonna work. So instead, I find myself spewing out random words in some form of verbal diarrhea. “Nothing. What? Nothing’s going on. I just—I’m—cramps,” I blurt, finally getting my legs to work and crossing the threshold into the room. Not even a five-year relationship with me could rid Bobby of his strong aversion of period-talk, and I’m taking full advantage of the fact right now. “You know, that time of the month.”
I step closer, pleased to see I’ve managed to throw him off, and Death has returned to pacing. “I mean, we can talk about it more if you’re so concerned—”
“Nope. No. I’m—nope. All good.”
“You sure?” I ask innocently, forcing my posture to appear casual as I walk past both men and head toward my dresser. If either of them were really looking at me, they’d see my hands trembling against the golden knobs.
“Ah, yep.”
I would chuckle at the way he’s suddenly avoiding eye contact if I could relax enough to do so. Instead I shrug, pulling the middle drawer open. “Okay.”
I’m so busy trying to keep discreet watch over the pair of them that I hardly pay attention to the mismatched pajama set I grab. I consider escaping into the bathroom to change, but leaving them alone out here seems like a very, very bad idea. After a moment’s hesitation, I set the items on top of the dresser for later.
Bobby starts strolling around the room, taking his time as he soaks it all in. It hits me he’s never been inside before.
“This place suits you,” he eventually says, running a hand along the brick mantle above the fireplace. He glances at me over his shoulder, his expression softening. “So, why are you havin’ so much trouble settling in?”
I frown. “I’m not. Why would you think that?”
“No pictures, none of those little trinkets Grams passed down to you, nothin’ . . .you.” He pauses, then takes a few steps toward me until our faces are no more than a foot apart. He leans down, lifts his hand to the loose hair hanging in my eyes, and gently twists it in his fingers. “I know you, Lou. And it looks to me like, for whatever reason, you aren’t comfortable enough here to settle down yet. Something’s holdin’ you back.”
I can understand why he’s coming to that conclusion. He’s referring to my stuff, the items he used to see almost every day for five years. Pieces of me, of my family. My life. He doesn’t know my bland room wasn’t a matter of choice, that Tuttle Creek Lake stole it all away.
I glance past Bobby, over his shoulder. Death has stopped pacing again. He's watching our exchange, and I can feel the fire burning behind his dark gaze. It's licking at my skin, my neck, sending a shiver down my spine. He rakes his hands through his hair, before striding the short distance across the room and pressing his palms on the wall as if he's prepared to push the thing down to get out of here.
Whyishe here? If he’s so desperate to get out of my room, why doesn’t he just do that fading act and disappear already?
Bobby pulls my attention back to him by giving my hair a tug, his blue eyes looking down at me with something new—hunger. Hope. Longing.
I need to say something. I make sure to look him right in the eye when I do. “Nothing’s holding me back, Bobby. I know I made the right choice, coming here.”
