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He scoffed. “Or kind of like an ambush.”

The image of Loren buried and bleeding under the pile of hounds in the automotive store in Ohio flashed through my mind, and I cringed.

Lifting the mug to his lips, Whitney gave the coffee a timid taste. I wasn’t sure he consumed it so much as licked the flavor off his lips. The resulting expression was a sort of scrunch-nosed surprise. He leaned forward to set the cup on the table, then stood.

“Thank you for the drink,” he said. “And the talk. I think I’ll excuse myself for a bit. Feels like I’m imposing.” His eyes skated over my body, giving meaningful emphasis to my bare legs.

I had half a mind to hike the robe and flash my lacy panties, just to see his reaction. But I didn’t want to scare him off, especially since he didn’t have anywhere else to go.

He made his way out of the trailer and pushed the door shut in his wake.

Loren had yet to emerge from the bathroom. He could have been cleaning up in there, arranging my beauty products the way he had my art desk. Or he could have been hiding from me.

Standing from my stool, I walked to the back end of the trailer and stopped outside the bathroom. If he wanted to be left alone, I should let him. A lot had happened in the past few weeks. He probably needed time to settle in, acclimate, adjust.

While I thought those things, my fist seemed to rise of its own accord and rap against the door.

“Lore?” I squeaked, mentally kicking myself for pushing when I knew Loren’s emotional gates only opened outward, and only when he was ready. Shoving and railing against them never got me anything but frustrated.

Still, I stood, bumping my toes into each other and staring at the door, hoping it would open. When it didn’t, I put my ear against the it and listened harder.

“Baby?” I gave the handle a tug. Locked.

I wanted to believe it wasn’t about me. It wasn’t because I’d ruined his life. Or because I was temporary.

Not because I led him into danger and that people hurt him—tortured him—because of me.

Today was just a bad day.

Tomorrow would be better.

Indy

One bad dayturned into two. Then three. We made do with food delivery and a few supply drops from Sully. She hung around after each visit, asking probing questions about how things were going with Whitney and Loren, and if I’d made it to any meetings. I hadn’t, and I didn’t need to. I was clean, and I intended to stay that way.

Besides watching movies and cleaning—Loren cleaned; I watched movies—there wasn’t much to occupy our time. Whitney came and went while Loren moved from the bedroom to the living room and back on repeat.

He still wasn’t talking, and he refused to write notes, but when I changed my question to a statement andtoldhim we were going to the grocery store, he nodded consent.

I’d hoped the outing would provide a break from the monotony and brighten Loren’s mood. I certainly felt better by the time we returned to Trailer Trove with six bags of food goods and a tasting menu for Whitney.

“I got Cheez Whiz, Funyuns, Reese’s Puffs, ramen noodles, pizza bites, and whipped cream because maybe that’s like asyllabub,” I said while tailing Loren to the rear end of the Firebird. “Have you heard of a syllabub?”

He shook his head. Opening the trunk lid, he ducked inside to grab the plastic sacks and stack them up one arm.

I leaned in to peer at the contents visible through the thin bags.

“Ooh, and Snowballs.” I snickered. “Wonder what Whitney would think if we taught him about theotherkind of snowball.”

Loren shot me a weary look.

I stepped closer to him and hooked my fingers over the waistband of his jeans.

“You know, I’m making a list for you too, baby,” I said. “All the things we’ll do once you’re healed up. I’m gonna put that tongue to work.”

Pushing onto my tiptoes, I kissed his cheek, then used my grip on his pants to tug him toward where the Airstream was parked a short distance away.

“I know what you’re thinking,” I said as we walked. “I got all this food but nothing actually edible.” I shot him a grin, and the hard set of his features relaxed. “Just watch, Whit will love it, and you’ll be all alone with your Perrier and smelly cheese.”