Page 35 of Where Love Lies

I sense something is wrong. Plopping down next to him, I place my elbow on the back of the couch and rest my head in my hand.

“Babe, what’s wrong? Something’s bothering you.” Sighing, he pushes my legs off of him and heads to the kitchen.

Looking over the couch, I rest one arm on the back and look at him. “Tell me!”

His back rises with a deep breath, then he turns, putting his hands flat on the counter with his head drawn low.

“I just found out before you walked in that the house didn’t close. The buyers backed out. My boss is pissed. He’s putting me back on smaller properties.” Pushing off the counter, he jerks the fridge door open and bends to grab a soda before slamming it shut. I don’t understand real estate. I haven’t even met his boss or any of his clients, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s new to this kind of profession and he’s still learning the ropes.

“Well, that’s not fair. It’s not your fault the owners wanted so much for it.”

“Yeah, maybe. I won’t be making as much, though. Don’t you have an art show coming up or something? How much do you make at those?” His question about my work comes out of the blue. I’m concerned about where he’s going with this.

“A couple hundred.” I shrug. “But you don’t need to worry about money. I have some if we get in a pinch. You should focus—”

“That’s not the way it works, Rain. If I’m going to live here, I should help!” His voice rises, and a chord in his neck strains as he scowls at me. A peak of his dark side lurks behind his charming smile, and romantic gestures. At first a seed but not it’s a full stalk of nothing but thorns.

“I understand, you’re the man of the house and want to support us.” I honestly have never seen a man want to be the one working; men like that don’t exist in my life, so this is both surprising and refreshing.

“This money you have, I’m assuming it’s from your mother?” He shakes his head. “You need to save that and get a job.”

I feel like I’ve been slapped in the face by his comment, so much so that I sit with my mouth open and my throat cinched up, unable to respond.

“I’m going to go take a shower. Cool off,” he mutters, looking down at his soda before walking off.

Sulking, I burrow myself into the couch and sigh. I feel bad he was demoted, but I’m sure we’ll be fine. His questions about how much I make though, doesn’t sit well with me. It’s something Cam used to always bring up and then follow it up with an insinuation that I don’t contribute enough. I mean, sure it would be nice if I could make way more on my pottery, but it takes time to get to that level. Defeat settles in my chest as I stare at the dust motes that float in the sun beaming through the blinds from window. This hobby of mine seems to really bother the men I’m with; they act as if the money I make from my art doesn’t matter and is somehow lesser than what they do. Why does it matter though? I have money who cares where it came from? Money is money! I don’t think I would have won today’s argument if I tried, it all results back to one thing. Me getting a real job with steady income.

18

Feeling hot and sweaty, I flip my pillow, searching for coolness, but as soon as I lie my head back down, it warms. Huffing, I kick the blankets off of me and reach for Heston, wanting to feel his body, to know he’s still in bed with me. Especially after our fight yesterday.

My hand swipes cool, empty sheets. Raising my head, I look to see that Heston is gone. My brow furrows, and I look around the bedroom.

“Heston?” I call out. When no one replies, I get up, grab my robe from the back of the door, and pad down the hall. The living room and kitchen are dark and quiet, but there’s a slight hint of coffee in the air. Where is he? It’s not like him to leave the lights off. I go into the kitchen to find the coffee pot mostly full and a note left in front of it.

See you at dinner. - Heston

I scoff, turning the note over for more of an explanation. We usually wake up together. The fact that he didn’t get me up and left a half-assed note upsets me.

Grabbing my phone, I text him.

Me:Why didn’t you wake me?

Heston:I don’t know.

Biting my bottom lip, angry with the impersonable message, I look at the clock on the stove. Ten. Man, I really slept in. I just don’t get why he left without waking me up, and his explanation doesn’t give me any answers. Fuming, I make myself a cup of coffee, slamming cabinets and growing more pissed by the second. I need a neighbor therapy session. Exiting the front door, I walk across the street and head to Owen and Flynn’s. I go around to the back door, finding them sitting at their patio table with fresh fruit and juice. Slumping into a seat, I grab a strawberry and bite into it.

“You okay?” Flynn asks, scratching his chest.

“I don’t know,” I mumble.

“Spill it,” Owen demands, rubbing his eyes.

“It’s just…Heston didn’t wake me up this morning, and when I asked him why he didn’t, he said he didn’t know. Like, what does he mean, he doesn’t know?” I vomit my feelings all over their breakfast, watching Flynn’s brows rise and Owen eat up everything I’m giving him.

“So, you’re mad he didn’t wake you up? Don’t you have an alarm on your phone for that?” Flynn asks, totally not getting it.

“No, it’s not that. It’s the fact that we wake up together every morning; we talk, have sex, and share some laughs. We get up and make coffee and start our day together. We’ve done it for weeks now. He even said it was his favorite part of the day, and then for some reason, I wake up today and he’s gone. Then I ask him what happened and he just doesn’t know. How is that his answer? What the hell?” My voice rises as I continue to explain, my heart hammering against my chest.

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