Bleed a little. Once I know you’re thinking clearly again, I’ll feel more comfortable accepting whatever TF this is.
Alana
That’s not a bad idea, ya know? Spar for an hour. Talk. Refocus.
Tommy
I’m notsaying you’re wrong for keeping her here. We don’t know those Barlespy folks, and fuck the outsiders who think they deserve our trust.
It’s entirely possible I would do the same thing if I were in this situation. But you remember when Lana came back to Plainview, and you kept stepping in my way?
You didn’t do that to be annoying. You were trying to protect me.
Fox
I saw Barbara flapping around town earlier. She went from store to store—literally—to gossip. Does anyone know the specific details surrounding double jeopardy laws?
Like, if she runs this chick down in her car and doesn’t get in trouble, can I also run her down and not get in trouble?
Clarifying. I mean, hitting Barbara with my car. Not Jane. Jane’s been through enough.
Exhausted, I lock my phone without replying and sit at the end of my bed, my pulse beating a punishing tune and my eyes locked on the wall of books I’ve spent a small fortune on in the last year. “Fuck me.” I exhale and fall onto my back. Because Rose is a mere six feet away, just on the other side of the wall behind me, and she’s unpacking. Opening and closing drawers. Putting things away.
But she doesn’t make a single sound. Not a fucking peep.
Not even a creak of the floor to call her own.
“What have I done?” I massage the bridge of my nose, breathing through the wash of panic spreading through my belly. But my trepidation has nothing to do with inviting a woman into my home. Not really. It has everything to do with invitingthatwoman into my home, only for her to retreat into the scared doe she was the day she woke up in the hospital.
Maybe not quite as severely afraid. But, fuck, it’s close.
“Rose?!” I shout loud enough to make her squeak. To force her to pause in her work. And then to give her time to consider responding. And yet… she doesn’t. I close my eyes and sigh. “You can hear me, can’t you?”
More silence. More fear. But then a faint, terrified, “Yes.”
“Great. But I can’t hear you. Tiptoeing around my house is gonna pissme off.” I throw my hand to the bed, to my constantly vibrating phone, then, shoving up from the mattress, I take the device with me and stalk into the hall. “I feel like an asshole, ‘cos you’re too scared to make a peep. When my sister stays in that room, I swear it sounds like she’s climbing the walls and throwing furniture around.” I stop in front of her closed door and wait… patient… hopeful. “Slam the closet door, Rose.”
“I…” She slowly opens the door, one inch at a time, until I’m treated to a view of her glossy eyes. “What?”
“Slam the closet door. Now.”
“You’re…” She frowns. “Are you experiencing a mental episode? Should I call someone to help you?”
“Slam it, Rose!” I press my hand to her door and push it back. Careful but firm. Slow, but unyielding. When there’s enough room, I slide through the gap and go directly to the closet. “You asked me to tell you when I’m feeling a certain way?” I whip the closet door shut and smile when the mirror clangs and hums in protest. “Prove to me you’re here. Because I swear to God, if you make this home a silent, cold museum, where neither of us is brave enough to make a sound, then I’m gonna lose my mind.” I open the mirrored door again, then slam it a second time.
She startles, jumping at the clattering stop.
“Your turn. Now.”
“I don’t want to treat your things badly just because you’re having a moment.” She folds her arms, standing her ground with an adorable V-line dug between her brows. “I won’t trash your home to make you feel better, Oliver.”
“Rose…”
Her cheeks fire a beautiful, taunting pink. But fuck, her lips quirk into that smile I’ve come to appreciate. “We made it an entire hour before you became a whacko.” She coughs out a soft laugh. “I’m not slamming your doors or throwing furniture just because you said so. I’m not Eliza, and I have no interest in climbing the walls.”
“Fine.” I surge forward and grab her hand, surprising a startled yelp from the depths of her throat, then I slingshot her toward the door and into the hall. “You won’t break shit? Then I’ll have you fix things. Anything to prove to me you know how to make noise.”
“Ollie!” She runs to keep up with my long strides. “What are you?—”
