Page 56 of Fade With Me

His eyes narrowed, amusement flickering at the corners of his mouth. He leaned back slightly, crossing his arms. “That’s a stripper name,” he said flatly.

I gasped dramatically in mock outrage, placing a hand over my chest. “It’s not!” I laughed, but as the notion settled, my expression faltered. “Okay, now that you mention it, it kind of does sound like it.”

Zeke raised an eyebrow, his grin stretching wider. “Mm-hmm.”

The thought of leaving the country terrified me. I’d never even crossed Kentucky’s borders, let alone the ocean. But wasn’t this what I’d always dreamed of? Escaping the predictable…escaping Reggie? I guess I’d never pictured it happening like this, amid chaos and uncertainty.

His voice snapped me from my thoughts. “Follow me. I’ll show you your room.”

I nodded and stepped in behind him, trailing up the stairs and down the hallway. The house was quiet, but something about it felt calming. Zeke pointed to a room on the left. “This is mine,” he said with a quick glance, then motioned across the hall. “And right across from it is yours.”

He opened the door, revealing a room that was almost entirely white, with one accent wall in asoothing sage green. The bed was enormous, at least a California king. Yet even with its size, the room felt spacious, a stark contrast to my tiny room back home, where even a twin bed felt cramped.

“Wow,” I said, wide-eyed as I stepped inside. “This is really nice. I can’t wait to crash in that massive bed.”

Zeke smiled, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “I bet. You’ve had a rough day. Let me run you a bath so you can relax.” He nodded toward his room, motioning casually. “You can use my tub. It has jets.” His eyebrows wiggled playfully, a glint of humor dancing in his gaze as he led the way.

Entering his room, the space exuded modern masculinity, its minimalist design embodying purpose and precision. The white walls stretched upward, flooded with natural light from the large windows. Dark furniture contrasted sharply with the pale surroundings, creating a bold yet balanced atmosphere.

At the center, a king-sized bed with a black leather headboard was the focal point, its crisp linens perfectly arranged. A low, black metal bench added an edgy touch, while a deep-hued rug beneath anchored the space without overpowering it. Soft ceiling lights cast a gentle glow, enhancing the calm, controlled ambiance.

My attention was drawn to the bed. It was smaller than the one in my room. Was that on purpose? Did he always plan for me to come here and want me to have abigger bed? The thought lingered in my mind as I took in the stark, minimalist space around me.

Everything in the room was meticulously arranged. Nothing extraneous, nothing out of order. It was clear the space reflected its owner: focused, strong, and composed.

He led me to his bathroom, and I was immediately struck by the massive tub. It was a luxurious thing, more like a hot tub than a regular bath. It was a fitting amenity for someone of his stature.

He turned on the water, the soothing rush filling the room as he added bubbles, a fragrant, frothy cloud quickly perfuming the air. He set a towel and washcloth on the counter and, with a quiet smile, said, “Take all the time you need,” before stepping out and gently closing the door behind him.

I slipped out of my dress and sank into the hot water, letting the warmth melt away my tension. The soothing heat eased my muscles, quieting my anxious thoughts.

Time seemed to stretch on, the bath offering a rare moment of stillness amidst the chaos of my day. I lost track of how long I’d been there, but it felt like an eternity. An unexpected relief.

Eventually, I dragged myself back to reality, renewed but aware of its weight. I drained the tub, grabbed the towel, and dried off. When I looked in the mirror, the bruise on my face caught my attention. It was dark from the earlier slap. But it was the mark on my back thatmade me pause: a deep bruise and a long cut where I’d hit the counter. At least the bleeding had stopped.

I reached for my dress, but seeing the blood smeared across the fabric stalled my hand. There was no way I was putting it back on. Maybe I could borrow something from Zeke.

I tightened the towel around me and stepped out of the bathroom, feeling vulnerable, though I wasn’t sure why the sight of him made me feel oddly reassured. Zeke was lounging on his bed, watching TV, dressed down in dark joggers and a soft-looking T-shirt. His eyes flicked toward me, a brief flash of surprise crossing his features before he quickly cleared his throat and sat up straighter.

“All finished?”

“Yeah,” I said, my voice quiet as I averted my eyes. I held out the dress, the bloodstains a harsh reminder of everything that had gone wrong tonight. “It’s ruined. Do you have something I can borrow? Maybe an old T-shirt or something?”

He stood up and walked over to me, his gaze steady. He reached for the garment, and as his hand hovered over it, a soft glow surrounded the fabric. In the blink of an eye, the dress was completely restored: clean, whole, and as though nothing had ever happened to it. I wasn’t unfamiliar with his magic by now, but the effortless ease with which he did it still amazed me.

He inspected the dress with a satisfied nod. “Good as new,” he said, offering me a casual smile. “But I’m guessing you don’t want to sleep in that.” He motioned toward a door beside me. “The closet’s in there. There’s a dresser along the wall—top drawer’s boxers, bottom drawer’s full of T-shirts. Help yourself.”

I glanced down at the dress in my arms, and a thought suddenly hit me. “Wait a second…” I said, narrowing my eyes. “If you can fix this, why didn’t you fix my car door handle?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Some things are too far gone for even magic to fix. That van? Definitely one of them.”

I placed my hand on my hip and stared at him, ready to argue, but stopped myself because, honestly, he was right. With a dramatic sigh, I turned and stepped into the closet, my eyes scanning the dresser’s contents. But as my gaze drifted toward the far corner, I froze. There, draped elegantly on a hanger, was a black gown.Theblack gown. The one I’d admired at Charla Mae’s the day I ran into him.

I reached out, my fingers grazing the fabric, and a surge of emotion welled up inside me. The dress shimmered faintly in the dim light, almost as if it was calling to me.

“I knew you’d look beautiful in it,” Zeke's voice cut through my thoughts, the sincerity in his tone startling me as I spun around, my mouth hanging open, unable to speak.

He leaned casually against the doorframe, relaxed, and continued, “I knew you didn’t buy it, so I went back for it. I wanted to give it to you, but I didn’t want to seem…creepy.” His soft laugh filled the space, light and warm.

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