Page 3 of Bunker Down, Baby

Sneakers, boots, house shoes. Because Evan, bless him, is the kind of man who wears house shoes.

And lounge pants.

Jesus.

Lounge pants that hang just right on his hips, loose and low, like they’re personally attacking me.

I pack extra pairs.

And last? The things that’ll make him feel at home.

The picture from his nightstand, his parents, I assume. His coffee cup, chipped but not replaced, so I know it means something to him.

When everything’s packed, I haul it all to my car a few blocks over, just outside the neighborhood.

When I return, I make one last check of the house.

Perfect.

Now, all that’s left… is to bring him home.

I make myself comfortable on his couch, stretching out like I belong here. Because I do.

If it weren’t for that nasty bug going around, I’d be at the ER watching him in his element, seeing him work, watching those big, capable hands save lives. But hospitals are filthy right now, full of germ-ridden people who don’t have the good sense to stay home when they’re sick.

I hope he’s wearing the proper gear.

It would be a real shame if my doctor caught something right before I bring him home.

But after tonight? He won’t have to worry about the public anymore. No more graveyard shifts, no more chaos, no more ungrateful patients breathing their contaminated air all over him. Just peace, quiet, and me.

The sky is going gold by the time he finally stumbles through the door.

Poor precious thing.

I watch him from the shadowed corner.

He doesn’t even look around, just shuffles into the kitchen like a ghost of himself. Doesn’t turn on the lights, he never does. Moves on autopilot, grabbing a soda from the fridge, popping the tab with a sigh.

I just watch him.

Savor the moment.

This is the last morning he’ll ever come home to an empty house.

He sinks onto the couch, takes a sip of his drink, and flicks on the TV without even glancing my way.

Which makes this so easy.

I move behind him.

Quick. Smooth. The way I’ve practiced.

The needle goes in.

He flinches, reaching up, fingers brushing the spot. “What the…”

His head sways. His body shifts. He turns, finally seeing me, his dark eyes hazy with confusion.

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