That’s behind me now. I don’t have to live like that anymore. He won’t find me here. It’s not like I left a paper trail. I need to stop thinking about him. It’s done.
I need to focus on what I can control, and that’s doing my job.
With the pizzadough having sat out for a bit, it’s a lot softer. I preheat the oven to five hundred and stretch the dough, then find pizza pans in a cabinet and put some olive oil on them to prevent sticking. I shape the dough then lightly press holes in it with a fork—not all the way through, just enough to make crevices for the sauce to seep into.
Steven liked pepperoni on his, but I hate it. Then it hits me. I can make anything I want. I’ll leave one pizza with just cheese, in case that’s what Grey likes, and I’ll see what he’s got in his fridge. There’ll be leftovers, but who doesn’t love leftover pizza?
I find half a jar of jalapeños and put them on one of the pizzas—I love spicy food, butSteven couldn’t eat it—then I take the small jar of sauce to put it on the other pizza. It’s not coming out, so I slap the bottom, but it splashes out of the jar, some hitting my shirt. Dammit! I only have this one right now.
I finish preparing the pizzas and put them in the oven, with a timer because I’m forgetful, then I try my best to get the sauce stain out—without much luck. I think I made it worse. I take it off, hyperaware that I’m shirtless in this stranger’s kitchen, and take more soap, scrubbing until the stain is barely even there. Now my shirt is soaked, though.
I creep down the hallway, hoping Grey doesn’t choose this moment to emerge from his lair. Luckily the laundry room is next to my room. I shove my shirt in the dryer, and he has two hampers filled with clothes, so I throw on a load for him. I wonder what else I need to do. I want to be good at this. I want to help him.
He looked so sad. Gruff, absolutely, but there was a sadness in his stormy eyes that hurt to watch. It’s the same look I see in the mirror more often than I like. I wait about ten minutes then check my shirt. I guess it’s dry enough. I do need new clothes, and now I have this job, maybe I could take some of the money I’ve set aside and buy some of the things I need.
I button my shirt back up, ignoring the slightly damp spot, and back out in the hall I decide to check the bathroom next to my room to see if it needs to be cleaned. I should make a to-do list in my journal. I see another room with the door slightly ajar. An office?
I walk in and see a desk with a computer sitting on it, but it’s what’s all around the room that catches my attention. There are large frames hanging on the walls, some with jerseys in them. Some with photos from a hockey game. There are shelves lined with memorabilia. Is he into hockey?
I walk up to one of the walls where there’s a photo from agame. The player dressed in a green-and-tan jersey is mid-strike, slapping the puck into the net. Then I recognize who it is.
It’s Grey.
A smile grows on my face. He looks so happy. Going down the line of pictures, there are in-game photos, and some of him posing with his jersey on. There are three jerseys displayed in shadow boxes along the wall too, and that’s when I see the back of the jersey—number thirty-two, Tremblay.
So, maybe a hockey injury.
I walk to his shelves, looking at his hockey cards, the hockey pucks... There are trophies and what looks like fan-made gifts. Then on the other wall there’s a framed photo of Alyssa’s daughter, and one of Alyssa and Lianna together. There’s another one of them with an older woman. I don’t know who she is, but I assume that’s their mom. She and Alyssa look very similar. Where is she? Or their dad for that matter. There’s another photo, and I recognize one of the men from earlier fishing with Grey. There’s another man with them with black hair and striking bright blue eyes. In all these photos Grey looks so happy.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
With a scream, I clutch my chest. My heart races rapidly and I stumble back, nearly taking out a shelf. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.”
“Get the fuck out of my room! Why are you in here?!”
“I wasn’t taking anything, I swear I?—”
Veins cord in his neck. I shrink. He bangs the door all the way open and I almost expect the doorknob to go through the wall. “Get out!” he yells. I nod fast, swallowing hard. My entire body goes cold. My limbs shake. I feel like my chest is vibrating.
“Yes. Yes, I’m so—” He walks toward me. Fuck, he’s huge. “I’m so—so—” I can’t breathe.
“Pack your shit. You’re done. Do you hear me? Done!”
My mouth opens but shock snatches the words from me. “I—” My hands can’t stop shaking. “I’m sorry. I meant no harm, I?—”
“Get the fuck out.” he growls, glowering down at me. He’s not much taller than me, but he’s a hell of a lot bigger.
“Y-yes. Yes, I’m so sorry. I just. I was trying to find—and I made food, and I?—”
“Get out!” he roars.
I nod, ducking under him to squeeze my way out the door. Shaking the entire way to the kitchen, I see the timer is almost up on the pizza. A hot tear snakes down my cheek. Get it together! It’s fine. He’s not Steven. He’s not. He’s not Steven. I’m fine. It’s fine. He yelled. Grow up. It’s fine! I swallow back the emotion clogging my throat. I’m okay. I’ll be okay.
Finally, the timer goes off and I take the pizzas out. The pizza cutter trembles in my hand. I leave it on the stove for him and I turn, flinching when I see him standing in the kitchen. His face is red, his eyes dark. “I made you dinner,” I whisper. “I’m sorry.”
I try to move around him, but he stands in my way. Why did I move here? Why did I just move in with this strange man? I’m so stupid. “Go grab yourself a couple of slices.”
My brows pinch. “What?”
