Page 62 of Shattered Veil

“Thank you,” I whispered.

Cassie’s eyes gave me a silent no problem, and she stated, “I put my spare key on the table by your phone. Lock up for me when you go and just take it with you—I’ll grab it from you later.”

I nodded and insistently pulled her mouth back to mine. She leaned away after two chaste touches of our lips, and I griped, “Stop that,” before ushering her back to me. Cassie smiled against me, wedged her hands between us, and gave me a soft push once they reached my chest.

“I’m going to be late; I have to go. Eat your pancakes.” Cassie reached up to give my beard a gentle tug, and my cheeks swelled in a begrudging grin as she cooed, “They’re really not that bad.”

She planted a last kiss on me—a hard one that I prayed would leave a bruise so I could feel her linger there—she bounded away, and in the blink of an eye, she was out the door.

I wasn’t sure why, but I stared at the entrance as if I were anticipating her to walk back through it. My feet blindly brought me to the front door, and my eyes stayed glued on the wood until I heard the closing of her Jeep’s door and tires crunching through the snow. I finally turned to find my clothing that had been stripped from me laid across the arm of her couch.

The sight of them alerted me to the cool temperature of the tile against my bare feet. I shivered, and I snagged my jeans to pull them on over my boxer briefs. After dressing quickly and finding that Cassie had neatly deposited both of my socks inside my boots, I took her advice and returned to my breakfast.

I ate the bacon first, of course, chewing it slowly. I had been unable to absorb the details of her bedroom until now, for my mind was otherwise occupied, and I found myself doing so as I made up her bed. It was small, much like the rest of her home, but rather than feeling cramped, it was cozy. The size of her bed allowed just enough room for the single nightstand where the remainder of my breakfast resided, and the headboard matched its color in a rustic, distressed white. The comforter was a camel brown, autumnal and akin to a dried leaf that had fallen from a tree and drifted to the ground, and it had the feel of suede on my fingertips. A pocket door to what was clearly her master bathroom was directly to the right of her nightstand—I paid it no mind, as the light was turned off.

Once Cassie’s bed was sufficiently made, I walked the plate and fork back to the kitchen. Before sitting, I cut myself a bite, grumbled the moment it touched my tongue, and forced myself to swallow.

I shook my head. “Nope.”

Deciding that I would fare far better with food of my own making at home, I promptly opened the cupboard underneath her sink where her trash was located and scraped the plate clean. Placing my plate atop hers on the counter to the left of her sink, I turned and found my cell on her dining table as promised. I unplugged it, letting the cord to the left of the table fall free to the tile, and peered at the screen.

I was less than shocked at the sheer number of texts from Shawn. Oftentimes, if I were out sick or on vacation, I would find my phone buzzing with his messages. They would typically contain random remarks regarding the day, and it would, truthfully, be as if I hadn’t been away from work at all—in a good way. These messages were no different, but because I was typically a quick text responder and, furthermore, I had never been absent from work without notifying management, Shawn’s tone had quickly changed as the day went on:

Brooks 8:32 A.M.: You’re laaaaaate. I’m telling on you.

Brooks 10:04 A.M.: Sleep through your alarm?

Brooks 12:13 P.M.: Lunch is lonely without you, boo.

Brooks 12:47 P.M.: Paula tried to ambush me with one of her long convos. I had to hide in the bathroom to escape.

Brooks 12:48 P.M.: I’m still in here. It’s been ten minutes. Think that’s long enough?

Brooks 1:36 P.M.: Okay, now I’m concerned. You didn’t even put in PTO for today?

Brooks 2:20 P.M.: You’re not answering your phone either?

Brooks 3:02 P.M.: Jay, come on. I’m all sweaty and nervous.

Brooks 3:25 P.M.: A STOMACH BUG, MY ASS!

The next two messages that I received no more than one minute later contained a bevy of emojis—the first displaying balloons, confetti, and cake, and the second an eggplant, droplets of water, and a peach.

It was amusing, really—to the point that I blew out an exhale of a silent laugh. And, yes, despite the fact that we hadn’t discussed our newfound closeness and what that meant, there was a part of me that was swarmed with what I could only describe as butterflies. Considering the circumstances and everything we had come to know within the last twenty-four hours, they felt rather inappropriate…but they were there. I shook my head gently, deducing that my mind was simply not up for verbally—or textually—explaining my current relationship with Cassie and any potential lying that would go along with it. I typed out:

James 4:23 P.M.: Yes. Very sick. Talk Monday.

My phone almost immediately buzzed with:

Brooks 4:24 P.M.: She’s taking care of you, huh?

I sighed heavily. I so wished that were the case—I yearned for simplicity…and this was not it.

James 4:24 P.M.: Not now, man. Catch you up Monday. Sorry I ghosted.

Brooks 4:25 P.M.: All good. Feel better. Long live Jassie.

His continued use of the amalgamation of our names still made me quietly snort. I shook my head, bringing my focus back to the present, and tapped through my phone to find my text message thread with Luke. I sent:

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