Page 75 of Inferno

“We’ll be expecting you both for dinner once you get settled in,” Bay says, looking between me and Parker. “Missy has been dying to meet you, Henry.” Lowering his voice, he leans in to me. “Welcome to the family.”

I know that Bay has no idea of the impact of his words, but when he sees my stunned state, he squeezes my shoulder, then quietly leaves. After the door closes behind him, I blink, then blink again, pinching the skin on my arm between my fingertips just in case this is all a dream or a hallucination. After several more blinks, my arm hurts, but I’m still in the huge, gorgeous apartment with its own bathtub, kitchen, and washer and dryer. I won’t have to go to the laundromat to clean my clothes. I won’t have to live off meals I can make on a single hotplate.

I’ll still have to watch my money, but with the increase in salary and six months’ rent-free, I’ll be able to buy real food.

“Did you see this place?” I say reverently to Parker.

“I’m so happy for you, this apartment is amazing. It’s much nicer than the place I was living in before moving to Montana,” she admits a little sheepishly.

The reality of my situation hits me all at once, and my head starts to spin, my heart racing in my chest. “Can I really live here rent-free for six months? If they got a real tenant, they could be making a fortune off this place. It doesn’t seem fair that they’d give it to me for free.”

Parker makes a noise of understanding, moving to stand beside me and nudging me playfully with her shoulder. “Bay told you it’s been sitting empty for months, so they’re obviously not too worried about the money. Stop seeing it as them giving you something, and consider that they’re doing this because they know how overqualified you are for the job they want you to take. They’ve offered you this apartment as an incentive. Big corporate firms do that all the time. They offer graduates signingbonuses, corporate apartments, and loads of other perks. This place is just a perk of the job.”

She makes it sound so reasonable, but that’s because I doubt she’s ever experienced homelessness or not being able to afford to buy food. Parker is a new friend, but I’d be surprised if she’s ever truly gone without or had to make a choice between eating or having power.

But who am I to look a gift horse in the mouth? This job, this town, this apartment—it’s a game changer for me. Having six months where the majority of my check isn’t swallowed up by rent would give me a chance to build a nest egg. I’m used to living frugally, and even living here I can make sure I don’t spend money on anything but essentials. Then by the time I have to start paying rent again, I’ll have savings and a backup plan.

This apartment and the gift the Barnetts are offering me is something I’d be stupid not to accept.

Parker spends the next thirty minutes making suggestions about the things I could do and buy to make this place my own. I nod and offer my opinion here and there, knowing I probably won’t do any of the things we’ve talked about. When I check my watch, I realize the long lunch and the time we’ve spent in the apartment have filled the afternoon, and it’s time to go home.

Rushing back to the office, I’m just turning on my computer to make up the time I’ve missed when Bay pokes his head around the door. “Go home. I’ll see you at the apartment in the morning to drop the couch off.”

The usually exhaustingly long bus ride home seems to fly by, and before I realize it, I’m pulling into the Bozeman bus depot. There’s a spring in my step all the way to my building until I let myself into my apartment and take in the small, dark space. I try not to compare it to the new place I’ll be calling home soon, but it’s hard. This apartment might be small, dimly lit, cold, and not exactly secure, but it’s been my safe haven for over four years.

Melancholy washes over me like I’ve been soaked in it. This apartment is mine. The only place I’ve ever considered my home and not just somewhere to sleep. I understand this world. I understand the ecosystem of the building and the neighborhood, and it understands me. Moving to Rockhead Point is going to be a massive change.

Sinking down onto the edge of my bed, I let my head fall forward into my hands and exhale a shaky breath. My life has changed so much in the last twenty-four hours. I had Anders—for a few hours at least. I had sex. I thought I’d found love, care, and affection only for it to be ripped away with no explanation.

My heart aches for him, even if I barely had a chance to claim him, the way he so viscerally claimed me. I feel like I should grieve his absence, but can you grieve someone who was only yours for a night?

The extent of the changes in my world suddenly feels overwhelming, and I have to fight the urge to crawl beneath my comforter and hide. But that’s not me. That’s not who I’ve ever allowed myself to be. I’ve gotten so used to stagnating in this apartment because it was mine, in a life where I’ve never truly had anything that belonged to me.

Now I have the chance to do more. A great job, a new apartment, friends. It feels too good to be true, but my happiness is being drowned by the loss of him, and I have no idea how to stop feeling this way.

Forcing my head up, I swallow thickly, then suck in a deep breath and glance around me. To say my apartment is sparsely furnished is an understatement. My box spring mattress is placed on top of a makeshift bed base made of wooden pallets and blocks that had been in the apartment when I’d moved in. My clothes and the majority of my meager belongings are all stored in plastic totes in the corner, and the handful of kitchen items I own are all in the single cabinet in my tiny kitchen.

I could have my things fully packed and ready to move out in less than an hour. It’s almost a little sad to realize that even in the place I’ve called home for so long, I’ve never really unpacked.

After the big lunch at the diner, I make myself some soup for dinner and eat it in bed, allowing myself a little more than my usual hour’s worth of free internet from my upstairs neighbors.

My hands shake as I pull up Mr. Yanis’s number on my cell and hit Call.

“Hello,” he answers, his rough, accented voice sounding abrasive against the silence of my apartment.

“Hello, Mr. Yanis, this is Henry Clayden.”

“Who?” he snaps.

“I live in the basement apartment in your building.”

“Basement. No basement.”

Thrown by his answer, I try again. “The basement apartment in the building on 37thStreet.”

“Basement on 37thno have apartment. Storage room.”

“Err, there is a storage room, but there’s an apartment too. I live in it. I pay rent every month,” I tell him.

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