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She huffs and her lips twitch at the corners.

The tension in the room eases, only to be replaced by something different but no less devastating. After placing the dish in the sink, I turn back to her. “Having you here is going to take some getting used to, but it’s your home too. I’ll try and remember that.”

My gut twists when she tenses at the wordhome. The same way I used to react when I was a kid and afraid to go home. Before my mind can continue coming up with reasons for her familiar reaction, she places a hand on my forearm, pulling my attention back to the conversation.

“Living with you is new to me too.” She bites her lower lip, fingers tapping against her thigh. “Do you have a spare key? I had to leave the back door unlocked when I went to the market.”

Fuck.

“Yeah, I’ll get it for you.”

We need to talk about precautions, especially since we live off base. She needs to be more careful. But the conversation will have to wait until tomorrow. She’ll have questions, some I won’t be able to answer.

I reach past Taya and grab the envelope from the island. Her brow furrows and she shifts from one foot to the other, placing a lock of hair behind one ear. Pulling the small gold band from the confines of the envelope and tucking the yellow packet beneath one arm, I capture her hand before she can lower it fully.

Her touch is like an iron brand, and I’m not sure if I want to let go or pull her close enough to burn us both. I compromise by slipping the ring onto her finger. Taya’s eyes widen and the atmosphere grows solemn.

My thumb moves in slow, soothing circles across the back of her hand and I enjoy the sensation a little too much. The skin is soft and delicate compared to the calluses on her palms. When she pulls her hand gently from mine, I offer her the envelope. “Your copy of the contract.”

“Thank you.” Taya slips past me and climbs up the stairs, retreating to her room.

I stare at the empty stairway for several long moments after the click of her door closing, lost in my own thoughts. What are her reasons for being here?

Chapter Four

Taya

Nothing like tossingand turning the entire night. Again. What I wouldn’t give for the wail of ambulance sirens or the high-pitched squeal of a train. I never thought loud, obnoxious sounds would be comforting. What I wouldn’t give to be back in my own bed, or look out my window at the city alive with lights, like someone had taken a handful of glitter and thrown it as far as the eye could see. I even miss the fearless pigeons who beg worse than dogs. Never in a million years did I ever think I’d miss those flying rats.

My heart sinks. Lingering on the thought of home only reminds me of the fact I no longer have one of my own. Or a family. And returning to Maspeth is not an option. I’m not sure if it will ever be. The parks, the handball courts, the bodega... they all remind me of my father. And they will all remind me that I am alone.

Maybe I should’ve gone away to college instead of staying local, not to mention living in my childhood home. Maybe if I had, leaving New York wouldn’t be so hard. Maybe I wouldn’t be seeking the comfort familiarity brings—and the safety net it offers.

I stare at the ceiling and dig my fingers into the blanket. I’m here now, in Virginia Beach. To start a new life. Build a new family. Wallowing in the past won’t help me achieve either of those things.

My gaze drifts to the bed and I wince. Neither will hiding in my room all day with this god-awful eyesore. I kick off my blanket, my lips twisting in a wry grin. God, this blanket is seriously awful looking, but man, is it soft. And warm. It gets the job done. Basically, I just have to refrain from looking at it for too long.

I run my fingers through my hair. My scalp is greasy and this humidity is causing my roots to gunk up quicker than normal. Guess Jim isn’t the only thing I have to get used to, living here. My stomach knots in confusion at the thought of him. He’s guarded and rigid, yet seemingly caring enough to decorate this room for me—he failed, obviously, but the fact that he tried makes me wonder what other layers he has.

I roll off the mattress and stretch when I stand. Might as well shower and start my day. The stillness of the empty house is almost haunting, but at least Jim’s out. There’s nothing like having a grown man snarl so loud when he needs the bathroom that the door rattles. Maybe he only has one layer: intense.

I step into the bathroom, toes flinching as they touch the chilled ceramic floor. I turn the polished chrome shower handle, releasing thousands of lukewarm drops. Steam fills the room and fogs the mirror as I strip out of my pajamas, anxious to let the hot water soak my skin. But I freeze as soon as my foot lands inside the ceramic tub.

No shampoo.

Or conditioner.

I backtrack and open the cabinet under the sink. Nothing. Wrapping a towel around my body, I step into the hall and make my way over to the linen closet. Empty. What the hell does this man wash his hair with?

Groaning, I stomp back into the bathroom and flick off the shower. So much for the luxury of clean hair. Ugh, I should’ve grabbed shampoo when I bought the pancakes the other day. But who doesn’t have shampoo? Like deodorant and lotion, I get. But shampoo?

Returning to my room, I throw on a pair of yoga pants and top. I might as well go to the supermarket now. I grab the ever-growing shopping list off my desk and head downstairs.

Grabbing a pen from the counter, I quickly scribble shampoo and conditioner on the list. How the hell am I going to get everything back on my bike? At least New York has an extensive subway system, making grocery shopping easy.

I bring the pen to my mouth, but stop before it reaches my lips. I’m a chewer. All of my pens and pencils back home had jagged tips. But this is not my pen. And it isn’t my house.

I put the pen down with aclangand grab my helmet off the side counter. Now to find the spare key. Of course, Jim didn’t leave it on the counter like he said. Did he even remember to leave it?

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