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I set the cups down on a dresser near the door and go back to her, crouching down. I stroke her hair back which causes her to open her eyes in surprise. “No need to apologize,” I tell her, my voice barely above a whisper.
We stay there looking at each other, and I feel my heart hammer in my chest. When is the last time I’d been excited about being this close to a woman while we were both fully clothed?
I stand up quickly, shocked by my response, and turn to clean up the cups. I go to the kitchen area and move my sweatshirt out of the way and turn on the hot water. I let it run as I look under the sink and find some soap and a sponge.
I reach up and still find the water ice-cold. I fiddle with the other knob and wait another couple of minutes but never get any warmth from the stream. So I wash the cups with the cold water, dry them, and put them back where I’d found them.
I check on Vivian and find her asleep, breathing evenly. I move the small trash can in the room to her bedside, and then go back to just watching her. She is okay—probably just needs to sleep. She’ll be fine. I am still having a hard time walking away from her.
You don’t belong here, I tell myself.
I turn away from Vivian and grab my sweatshirt, heading to the door. I put my hand on the knob and freeze. It feels wrong. I have a bad gut feeling about leaving, and instead feel the intense need to stay. I stand at the door, with my hand on the doorknob, as indecision eats at me. I give the knob in my hand a squeezeas I wrestle with my thoughts and feel a looseness to it. I pull back on the knob, and it comes away from the door in my hand. Its mechanisms are completely rusted, and there is no way this thing is workable.
Well, I can’t leave Vivian with a broken door, I realize.
I stride back to check on Vivian again, who is still fast asleep. I grab my phone and dial Axel who answers before the first ring finishes.
“I’m busy tonight. Can you cover for me?”
“Yup. Meeting in the morning, right?”
“Yeah, Persey’s at eight.”
And then Axel disconnects without another word. He is a poet, my brother.
I return my sweatshirt to the sink to dry more and then sit on the futon in the living space and look for a TV, but realize there isn’t one. Once I sit down, I realize how tired I am myself. I’d had a late night the evening before. My brothers and I had swept all of the bars, making sure there was no “merchandise” left behind. We’d found a few at the bar where we had taken those two fools down, but that was all. We’d all made it home just as Roman was getting ready to head off to school. My Dad had rushed out the door with him, once again avoiding me and my pending questions.
Slade, Axel, and I had also fanned out across the city this afternoon before I went to see if Vivian was maybe at the library. We’d gone to talk to some of our street contacts to see if we could piece together why Eddie had been trying to make it look like we were in the middle of a drug war. I’d had about three hours of sleep, and I was feeling it. So I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. I would stay here and rest in case Vivian needed anything.
But only because I broke her door.
Chapter 12
VIVIAN
Iwake to the usual sounds of fighting from the apartment above mine and shouting from the streets below. My stomach is unsettled still, and my head aches slightly, but it is all infinitely better than it was the evening before. My mouth is dry, so freaking dry, and I get up slowly, making my way to the bathroom when I notice a figure on my futon.
I tiptoe over the short way and see Declan fast asleep on my couch. His face is relaxed in a way I have never seen when he’s awake. Awake he’s always serious, focused, distant, hard to read. But like this, in such a relaxed state, he looks so peaceful.
His eyelashes are a deep black, like the shade of my own hair, and they are so long they rest on his high cheekbones. As I inspect them, Declan shifts a little and I stand up straight and still, afraid of being caught creeping around my own apartmentand staring at the man who helped me even after I vomited on him.
I inch backward and enclose myself soundlessly in the bathroom. I wrap my hair in one of my hands and lean down, taking a drink from the sink. The cool water burns on the way down initially, but once it subsides I feel a little reprieve. I look in the mirror and see the dark bags under my eyes, along with knots and flyaways in my hair from bedhead.
I quickly grab a brush and straighten out my hair, but there’s nothing I can do about the bags. I don’t have makeup except for some mascara and lip gloss. Bailey has a decent collection—she calls it her one vice—but we are far different skin shades so I don’t dare even try it.
I’m about to try to make my hair more presentable when I hear a thump and then a high-pitched scream. I rip open the door to find Bailey with her mouth hanging open, staring at Declan who has a gun pointed at her.
“Declan, put the gun away!” I shout.
“Who are you?” he demands, his eyes never leaving Bailey, his gun still trained on her.
“This is Bailey, my roommate!” I say, trying to get through to him. I cross quickly over to Bailey and get between her and the gun, which thankfully Declan is putting away.
“I’m sorry, Bailey,” I say, going over to her and helping her pick up her bag.
Bailey crouches down to pick up her items, and she looks at me, her face no longer panic-stricken. “Thatis Declan?” she says, barely audibly. I glare at her and she mouths the word “hot” to me, and I can only look at her like she is crazy. Only Bailey would be able to look past the fact that a man has held a gun on her in her own apartment, and still find him attractive.
“Sorry about that,” Declan says, striding over to Bailey and me as we stand. “I must have been out cold; the door opening startled me.”