“Thank you,” I say. “For this. For coming to get me before dawn.”
“You’d do the same for me. You tackled and chained me when I needed it and sat down here with me through the worst nights of my life. Kept me sane when I wanted to rip the walls apart. This is just me returning the favor.”
We climb the stairs together. Dawn is just breaking through the kitchen windows, pale gray light filtering across the hardwood floors. The house is still quiet. Garlen heads to the coffee maker without another word, moving into his morning routine like we didn’t just have the most important conversation of my life in his basement.
I return down the hallway to the bedroom. Our bedroom.
Sloane is still asleep, curled on her right side, her auburn hair spread across my pillow.
I crawl back into bed beside her, pull her close and press my lips to the top of her head and breathe her in.
Today, I’m going to tell her everything. That I love her. That I’ll follow her to DC or stay in Truckee or move to the damn moon if that’s what she needs. That I found us a house with four bedrooms and that she never has to choose between me and her career.
Chapter Eighteen
Sloane
Iwake up and find Jonus face-down, dead asleep, breathing heavy and slow. The horns barely scrape the headboard and his tusks have retreated in sleep. He looks more exhausted than I’ve ever seen him. Dark circles under his eyes. His jaw slack in a way it never is when he’s awake. This orc is always alert, always watching, always the first one up. And yet now he looks vulnerable, almost angelic in that pose. And certainly sexy as hell.
Something kept him awake last night and I don’t know what.
But he needs rest, so I let him have it.
I quietly swing my legs over the side of the bed and test out my feet. My soles feel okay on the cool hardwood floor, so I stand. My heels ache but it’s manageable. The stitched wound is tight, not sharp and the smaller cuts barely register.
I walk to the bathroom.
It’s a slow walk, careful, but it’s a walk. No strong green arms scooping me up, just my own two feet, one in front of the other,on the hardwood floor of the house that has somehow become my home.
In the bathroom, I softly close the door behind me, then I brush my teeth and spend time on my hair, which is finally starting to look reasonable again. It’s not the matted, filthy mess from the pit, or the limp, air-dried hospital version. I now have a few hair tools and my hair oils and leave in conditioners again. This morning my hair has actual auburn waves with body and shine. I took a shower yesterday and my day two hair still looks good, so I simply clip back the front pieces and apply a tiny bit of makeup. Then I change into fresh underwear and put on one of my new loungewear sets, a matching short sleeve top and crop pants set in a Kelly-green color I love. A thin, grey cardigan works perfect to keep me warm in the chilly morning.
Then I look at myself in the mirror. Really look.
My bruises are almost gone. Just faint yellow shadows on my arms that you’d only notice if you knew to look. My face has filled out from eating three solid meals a day for the last ten days. The gaunt, hollow look from the pit is gone. I look healthy. Strong, even. I can hardly wait to start going for walks again. I bet walking in this neighborhood would be lovely.
I’m still overweight but that’s fine. My thighs press together and my stomach has that familiar softness. There’s the roll in my back I’ve had since college. My hips are wide and my arms are thick and I’m never going to be the kind of woman who gets asked to go on camera.
But the man sleeping in the next room thinks I’m the most beautiful female he’s ever seen. I suspect he’ll never try and demand I join a gym. He thinks I’m sexy just as I am. And right now, looking at myself this morning, I like what I see too.
Not bad, Adams.
I find Jonus still asleep and snoring loudly. Therefore, I grab my laptop and silently head for the kitchen.
Each step down the hallway is a small victory. I pass Aldar’s closed door and hear nothing. I exit the back hallway and walk through the comfortable living room into the open kitchen. The house is quiet and still and mine for the moment.
The coffee maker is already on. This surprises me until I check the pot and find just enough for one cup left. Someone was up before me and made coffee. Garlen, probably, before going back upstairs. I pour the last cup for myself, add my usual embarrassing amount of cream and sugar, and start a fresh pot for everyone else.
I hear a noise and look up to see Loki bouncing down the stairs.
“Hey sweetie, I whisper. What are you doing up so early?”
I greet and pet the dog. Then I take my coffee and my laptop to my favorite couch. Loki jumps up and presses his ridiculous fluffy body against my thigh. This dog is so cute, I can’t handle the cute. I scratch behind his ears with one hand and open my laptop with the other.
I look around and smile. I did all of this by myself.
No one carried me to the bathroom or made my coffee. No one settled me on the couch and arranged my pillows. I walked here, on my own healing feet, and made my own damn coffee. I’m sitting in this beautiful house watching the early morning light come through the mountains and it hits me so hard my eyes sting.
I like this life in Truckee, California and I have no desire to return to my tiny apartment, living alone in Georgetown. Of course I love the buzz of working in the Washington Bureau and talking shop with my coworkers. But, is there a way for me to have my career and yet live out here, in this small town across the country, with Jonus and his family?
