Page 60 of It's Going to Be a Chrome Christmas
Lee was mostly quiet as he worked, only letting out the occasional grunt or groan. His silence irritated her. She couldn’t imagine the pain he was inflicting on himself.
Finally, she heard him gasp out and then a clatter of metal against the glass bowl. Trixie turned to see the bloody bullet still gripped between the tips of the pliers and promptly lost the battle with her dinner.
Cayden was not any happier about being back at the halfway house than the Wynns were having him there. Of course, their concern was about Trixie and what had happened. Cayden just delivered a short “She’s fine, we had a fight” as he made his way up to his room. He was still barefoot. His boots were at Trixie’s.
For one precious day, he’d had a house. He’d been dreamily arrogant that he could have a home, a future. With Trixie. The best girl in the world. He’d thought himself so lucky.
How had he ended up back at the halfway house? Using the noose of his freedom was a low blow. His freedom wouldneverbe worth her safety. But his Trix was a strong, independentwoman. How could he not give her what she asked for? But that didn’t stop the question, what was she involved in that might cost him his freedom?
Pissed, Cayden called her, but the phone just rang and then went to voicemail. Not for the first time, he considered calling 911. It was those fucking words that halted him each time.I need you to trust me.
He did trust Trixie. He’d trusted her with more of himself than he had to anyone else he knew. Gran was excluded from that tally because she’d raised him.
Cayden laid on his bed, seething, and ignored the constant knocks on his door from Mrs. Wynn and Geordi. It was still early evening. He should be balls-deep in Trixie, worshiping her entire body with his mouth, hands, and cock. Not sitting on his bed alone.
He hadn’t wanted to hit something so much in a very long time. Not since he’d gotten together with Trixie, really. She calmed his Russo temper like nothing else ever had. Not even the adrenaline high of boosting had cooled him down like Trixie did.
How had their weekend turned so bad thatTrixiewas the cause of his current rise in anger?
Trixie had told him to leave. Trixie had kicked him out. To help a bleeding stranger with a bullet wound.I need you to trust me.
Fuck! Cayden hated this. It wasn’t a matter of trusting her. He trustedher. He didn’t trust the unknown stranger bleeding on their bed. The bed he’d spent most of the previous night buried inside her in.
Trixie wanted to protect him. He had one weekend to go. He was so close to his freedom. But what was his freedom worth if he didn’t haveher? If something happened to Trixie, he’d neverforgive himself. Why the fuck had he left her? How could she have asked him to leave her?
Cayden wanted to return to her house, but it was after curfew. The Wynns had let him back in, but they wouldn’t let him leave again. Their house wasn’t a hotel where he could come and go as he pleased.
He’d give her the night. Whether she wanted him there or not, he was going back to that house first thing in the morning. Cayden just hoped and prayed she would be okay until then.
Her bedroom was a mess and it smelled rotten. Lee was currently passed out on the couch in the den, not wanting to risk him bleeding all over her new couch. She didn’t fully trust her sewing skills for him not to. She’d run out of black thread and had moved onto red and then yellow. It made her think of that snake rhyme where one was deadly and one was friendly. She really hoped she hadn’t somehow jinxed him by using those colors in that order.
Using bleach, baking soda, and vinegar, she worked on cleaning up her bedroom. Trixie had to force herself to breathe through her mouth. The vile smells were making her stomach threaten to rebel again.
She knew she had a missed call from Cayden. She hadn’t cleared the notification yet and he hadn’t left a voicemail. Her guilt decreed that she should let the notification remain, a constant reminder. Her phone was practically burning a hole in her back pocket.
She made sure to clean the new carpeting from the French doors to her bedroom for any blood drops. Then she scrubbed her back porch with bleach. When she found a bloody handprinton the rail, she decided to check the remainder of the backyard. She went back inside to grab a larger flashlight than her penlight. From the stain, she figured the sounds that had alerted Cayden and her earlier that night had been from Lee climbing over the fence. Why hadn’t the man just opened the gate? There wasn’t a lock on it.
His path to the house also didn’t make sense to her. He’d crossed through the neighbor’s yards rather than walk down the sidewalk to the front door. Had he been trying to avoid being seen? Since he was adamant about not wanting the cops involved, Trixie figured that was an accurate assumption. Had any of her neighbors seen him? What if they had called the police?
Then the cops would already be on your doorstep, moron, she chastised herself.
It was nearing four o’clock in the morning when she made it back inside. Exhausted, Trixie took the soiled sheets and Cayden’s shirt from the washer and put them in the dryer. She showered, grabbed out Cayden’s shirt from Friday from the hamper, and then curled up on the living room couch. Even with the new sheets on her bed, she didn’t think she could sleep there. Not without Cayden.
A pounding on the front door woke her. Trixie groaned into the pillow. It was too early and she was too tired for this, but the pounding persisted so rapidly that it reminded her of a hummingbird’s wings.
“Fuck,” she grumbled, forcing herself to stand. She stumbled to the front door. She knew it was Cayden out there, but she didn’t have any answers for him. She hadn’t even gotten answers herself yet.
Regardless, it didn’t change the fact that he couldn’t be here. She didn’t know what Lee was mixed up in and she couldn’t risk Cayden’s freedom because of it.
A glance into the den showed Lee was still out cold. She saw the slight rise and fall of his chest, which meant she hadn’t inadvertently killed him. Yet. A push down the stairs might still be owed to her as penance for the scare he’d given her as well as his piss-poor timing.
She opened the door before Cayden drew attention to their house with his knocking. But she blocked his entry with her body.
“So you are alive,” he snapped. “Thanks for letting me know.”
Trixie laid her head against the door. “I’ve had a really long night. I’m exhausted?—”
“Well, I’m fucking pissed,” he interrupted. She didn’t doubt that; his mismatched eyes were seething. “Are you going to let me in?”
