Page 90 of ILY
Fuck, I’m going to have to call this in. I might be able to drag my feet for a few more days, but any longer and I could be introuble for withholding evidence. I take the folder with me and walk back into the dining room, popping open the box of shoes and setting it inside there. It’s a good enough collection bin for now.
As I turn, my eye catches on the door that I’d noticed the first time I’d come to Leaf’s. It leads to the cellar, and he couldn’t ever get it open. It had triggered warning bells in me back then, and now I feel it even worse.
I hesitate, then turn the handle. It twists, but the door itself won’t budge. I lean in, squinting until I realize the door is sealed. When I pry at the edges, I notice it’s shut with a lot more than glue. I’m fairly sure it’s cement.
Christ. There’s no way I’m going to be able to get in there without demolishing the wall, and I don’t have the resources. But when I do bring in people who will have them, it means Leaf’s house is going to be destroyed. They’re going to tear this place open from top to bottom.
There will be rubble left behind. A frame he can rebuild on if he’s lucky, but I have a feeling they’re going to rip up foundation if they have to.
I need to talk to him about it. It can wait until morning, though not much longer than that. But I won’t let him go through this alone. I can’t. There’s not a chance in hell I’m going to walk away while his life is, once again, turned upside down.
Stepping away from the cellar door, I head outside, stopping by the front porch railing. It’s in terrible need of repair. This entire house is. I don’t know what kind of money Leaf has—if he was left any when his aunt died or if most of that went to her son.
But maybe I can help. I’ve been single almost all my life, married to my job. I never went on vacation, I’m still driving the car I bought for myself after my first big promotion, and I neverbothered to decorate my apartment with anything besides the bare necessities.
I have money.
And soon enough, I’ll have time.
I can make a home for us—if Leaf would want that. If myI love youis received and accepted. All I want is a chance to do this right.
With him.
It’s fast, but it’s really hard to give a shit because the whole thing feels so right. It feels?—
Oh fuck! My head goes immediately silent as my eyes pick up on movement down the driveway. My heart starts hammering against my ribs, and I reach for the back of my jeans before realizing that I didn’t bring a gun with me tonight because of course I didn’t.
But there is definitely someone creeping toward the house. Glancing to my left, I see the bat Leaf had been using to chase Michael. Never in my entire life did I think I’d be snagging it in my hands and slipping off the porch to run toward a shadowy assailant, but here I am.
“Freeze!” I hold the bat high up over my head once I’m close enough I can make out that it’s a very tall, broad person.
“I…sorry…you…on!”
Fuck, my hearing aids are upstairs, and it’s way too dark for me to make out his features. But I don’t want to tell him I can’t hear him. I don’t want him to think he can get the jump on me.
“Get on the porch,” I say. “Right now.”
He begins to move. It’s still almost pitch-black out. I didn’t want to disturb Leaf, so I left the light off, but I can see him a bit better once we get into the ambient glow of the dining room light.
I can make out short-cut hair, and he’s wearing pajamas with little ducks on them, which doesn’t seem dangerous, but I’ve been fooled by worse.
This man could be a psycho who kills kids in bathtubs for all I know.
“Don’t fucking move,” I order as I walk to the door and open it. I fumble with my fingers until I hit the light switch, and the porch floods with a bright glow.
The man in front of me still has his arms up behind his head. He has light brown hair, tan skin, and very thick eyebrows over deep-set eyes, and the way he’s blinking at me makes me think he’s petrified.
Like at any second, he might piss his pants.
I lower the bat and clear my throat. “Who are you?”
His name is very easy to read off his lips. “Salem.” Then he says something else I can’t catch because he turns his head to the side and points down the road.
I sigh and tap his arm. “Can you look at me when you speak? I’m hard of hearing, and I missed most of that.”
He blinks, and then his eyes widen. ‘Sorry. Sign?’
Salem…Salem. The interpreter guy? The one with the quail that stole all of Leaf’s chickens? I don’t know if I like this guy. I don’t think I want to get to know people who think it’s okay to steal my boyfriend’s shit.
