Page 35 of Tear Me to Pieces
“I guess that depends on how you look at things.” She might have liked me getting her off, but I’m not so sure how Myra’s going to react to the news that I’ll be staying here with her tonight.
And possibly for the foreseeable future.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be here alone tonight.” I’ve already taken over so much of her life, so it would be great if I could get her to come to the same conclusion I’ve already come to. “You don’t have a security system and your house butts right up against that tree line. It wouldn’t be hard for someone to scale the fence, and they’d have plenty of privacy to break in.”
Myra’s skin pales and the column of her throat works on a swallow. “Should I get a security system?”
“Yes, but that doesn’t help us now.” I wait, holding my breath. Hoping she gets where I need her to go.
Myra shifts on her feet, blue eyes darting around. “Should I go to a hotel or something?”
“You could, but you’re already in your pajamas.” I fight to keep my tone even instead of demanding. “Or I could stay here.”
Myra’s eyes lift to my face, dipping to my mouth before meeting my gaze again. “Okay.”
Her breathy agreement eases the tension that had been bunching my shoulders. I roll them out, helping a little more dissipate. “I need to go grab a change of clothes and my toothbrush.” I move toward the door, the need to get this done so I can be back quickening my steps. “It’ll take me five minutes.” I flip the deadbolt and open the door, turning to face her. “Lock this behind me. I’ll be right back.”
I step out into the darkness, glaring up at the spot where a porch light should be. There’s an old fixture mounted to the wall, but the bulb inside it is long dead. Myra closes the door behind me, and as I wait for her to lock it, I add outdoor lighting to the list of tasks I’m going to tackle tomorrow.
Once I hear the deadbolt click into place, I hurry down the stairs, listening for any sign I’m not alone out here as I scan the block for movement. Everything is quiet enough I feel comfortable continuing on, but I pick up the pace, rushing to my camper where I grab a few items of clothing, my toothbrush, and a charger for my phone. After locking up, I jog back to Myra’s house. Giving the door a sharp rap with my knuckles, I let her know it’s me.
Myra opens the door, stepping back to let me inside, and I suck in a deep breath, trying to calm my excitement at the opportunity to be so close to her. This isn’t a good thing—I knowit’s not—but the part of me that’s so fucking lonely it aches didn’t get that memo. Knowing she’ll be close, even if it’s just in the next room, is already soothing the part of me still hurting from an old loss.
Pulling in another breath, hoping to calm the warring emotions inside me, I pause. The scent of Myra’s body wash tints the air, but it’s not the only thing that tickles my nose as I breathe in. My eyes move down the hall toward the kitchen. “Are you cooking?”
Myra presses her lips together, lifting one shoulder in a half-assed shrug. “I guess I was a little hungry after all.”
I go still, taking apart the evening’s events. I want to think she asked me to take her home for a reason other than being tired. That she preferred my company over everyone else’s.
That maybe she was hoping for what happened against that truck.
I know it’s just the part of me that has already decided she’s mine conjuring up what it wants to see, but still.
Anything’s possible.
“I thought maybe you’d be hungry too.” Myra pinches her lower lip between her teeth. “It probably burns a lot of energy playing the drums all night.”
I’m torn. Desperate to let myself believe all the things I want are within my grasp, but self-aware enough to know I’m probably reaching. “You don’t have to cook for me, Myra.”
The hint of a smile on her mouth lifts. “I know.” She points to the items in my arms. “You can put all that upstairs. Our food should be ready soon.” Then she pushes up on her toes and presses a kiss to my lips.
I don’t even kiss her back because I’m stunned by the casual way she does it. Like it’s a normal thing we do all the time.
I’m still staring in shock when she disappears around the corner, leaving me standing alone in the entryway as she goes into the kitchen.
To finish cooking. For me. Because I burned a lot of energy playing drums.
Again, it would be easy for me to read into this. To think it’s more than it is. The kiss. The food. Her immediate agreement to have me stay with her.
But I have a habit of looking down a tunnel of my own creation. Of thinking I can make whatever I want happen.
And the last time I did that, it took me years to get over.
Turning away from the temptation of everything I want, I march up the steps, going in search of Myra’s guest room.
I reach the landing and pace down the hall, peering into one empty room after another. Myra’s home used to be an office building, and the drywall partitioning most of the second floor into rooms is still intact, but none of them look particularly good. There are holes knocked in the walls, wires dangling from the ceiling, missing outlets, and busted baseboards. It makes me wish I had more than a month to give her. Maybe I could find someone to take my place for the job in Louisia?—
I reach the last doorway and skid to a stop on the subfloor, realization dawning.
