Page 105 of Unstable

After getting ready for the day, taking care of Bourbon and eating breakfast with Keaton…it’s still there and I can’t shake it, no matter how many times I reassure myself I’m being silly.

Keaton picks up on something going on with me, giving me a worried side-eye as we load up in his truck.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours, baby?” he asks once we’re on the road.

“I honestly don’t know.” I rub my forehead, the pills I took not touching my rapidly building headache. “I just have this gut feeling. Something’s off, or about to be off. As in, terribly wrong.”

“Henny,” he reaches for my hand, “you’ve always been a worrier, which is fine, I love you just the way you are. But you don’t have to do it anymore. Now that you actually let me, I’ve got you. Always have, but since you’re finally acknowledging that you’re mine, that means taking care of anything you want or need. There’s not a damn thing that could go wrong that I wouldn’t die fixing for you. Do you trust me when I tell you that?”

“Yes,” I answer lowly, but honestly.

“Could it be you’re just skeptical that things can really be this good? That you’re worthy of being happy?”

“Maybe,” I shrug, “but I know what that feels like, the certainty that life will never be good or happy again. This feels different.”

“Are you having second thoughts about your farm arrangements with the Kings?”

“No.” I shake my head. “Absolutely not.”

“Are you,” his voice softens, “having doubts about us? Living together? Being together?”

“God, no.” I squeeze his hand. “I love you, Keaton. That love is the surest thing I’ve ever felt.”

“Okay,” he whooshes out his relief. “Glad to hear it. At least both of us don’t have to be worried,” he half chuckles. “And I love you too, baby girl. So, what else could it be? I’m out of ideas.”

“I told you, I don’t know. But I feel sick because I have the distinct sense that we’ll be finding out soon enough.” I stare out the window, fighting for a calming breath, deciding a change of subject might help.

“So, you never told me, how’d Gatlin leave the cabin? Was it a mess? Any damage?” I already know the answer—Gatlin would never be that disrespectful, but it’s the only conversation piece I can come up with at the moment, my mind still stuck on the foreboding unknown.

“Nope,” he pops. “Everything was fine.”

Alright, so much for that occupying much time. Now I have to think of something else to talk about.

Or not.

“Say, did you ask Bri about furnishings? They might need stuff, if you don’t mind them using it that is. Sure save with a lot of packing,” He asks—excellent choice—this could take up some real time. And be fun…‘cause I can use it to make him squirm, which I always enjoy.

“No, I was waiting until I knew exactly what could be left. You know, after you remove all items of former debauchery from your place.”

I face the window again to hide my smile.

Does it make me angry to think of Keaton having sex with other women? No, that’d be unreasonable—I was gone, having left on not exactly amicable terms with him, and he’s only human.

Does that mean I’m going to overlook it and fuck him in the same spots? That’d also be a resounding Hell. No.

And there’s the squirming in his seat I was expecting. I glance over and smile, getting way too much delight from his creased forehead and quickly bobbing Adam’s apple.

“So, what’s it gonna be ‘Ashfall’s Infamous Ladies Man?’” I giggle. “Couch, kitchen table, every chair, desk? I can’t rip out my bathtub, shower, or countertops. We need to get those replaced over at your once bachelor pad?”

“Henny,” his hand tightens around mine, “I really don’t like this topic and would rather have my ass beat than answer you.”

“You think I want you taking mental inventory over there, remembering all your rendezvous? No, but I also want a fresh start in our home. Not just some closet space in your Den of Fornication.”

“Oh look,” he almost shouts, “we’re here. I’ll…uh…get back to you on…this scary conversation. Let’s go.” He opens his door and jumps out. “Rude to keep the man waiting.”

Mr. Boles’ receptionist asks us to take a seat in the lobby while she lets him know we’re here and as I sit, Keaton announces that he has to use the restroom.

No, he doesn’t.

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