Page 19

He gives me a long look I can’t quite interpret. I try to reverse engineer what I’m sensing from him. Curiosity? Guilt? Or is he wanting me to pardon him? But how can I, when I don’t know the details? I’m about to probe further when he breaks our gaze and sits up.

‘I’m going to start up the shower. Want to join me?’ He hops out of bed and heads for the bathroom. I can’t help but admire his ass. Wow. Seriously. What a great ass.

‘Sure,’ I call out behind him. ‘Give me a second.’

I hear the shower turn on. Then Daniel, singing loudly and off key.

For a moment, I just sit there, cross-legged on Daniel’s bed, drawing the sheet around me like a robe.

I’m not ready yet to step out of this pocket of eternal present.

I want to keep feeling it all– all these things that will end as soon as I move.

The buzzing in my body. The aftershocks of pleasure that are still warming me.

The calm beauty of the rain, now pinging brightly against the window pane.

The way the grey shroud of the sky is brightening; I never knew grey could be so dazzling.

And Daniel, of course– the second most unexpected thing that’s ever walked into my life.

I feel myself smiling. I met Jessica at a bar. Daniel in a coffee alcove. It’s silly, but could it be my thing? Finding love by the beverages? Hah.

I’m squirmy with happiness. How could it have been so good on our first try?

And how much better could it be on our second…

This is too good to be true.

I just met Daniel, and yet somehow he makes me feel…

Safe.

Being with a man is different– and I need different.

This relationship, or whatever I should be calling it, feels new.

It’s nothing to do with Jessica– though Daniel also doesn’t seem afraid of that part of my life.

He is neither intimidated nor put off by the fact that I was in love with a woman, or that she met a tragic end.

In fact, I don’t think anything could scare this man.

Though, speaking of tragic ends… I conjure the list I’ve been working on in my mind. Serena, Craig… I shake my head, to clear it. What if, instead of doing what I came here to do, I… let go? Daniel’s voice comes back to me. His decisive command. Let go. And I did.

Is this where my path forks? Could I abandon the plans that brought me here and leave with Daniel at the end of it? What would it feel like, to get on a plane in three weeks and never come back to the Riovan?

I open my hands on the bed and contemplate them. The natural curl of my fingers, not fully open, not fully closed. From here I can choose to flatten my palm, or make a fist. Both require effort. What takes more strength? To hang on, like I’ve been doing for five years? Or… to let go?

Daniel hits a high note on ‘Stayin’ Alive’, bringing laughter bubbling up in my stomach.

I leave the bed, the sheet trailing behind like the train of a ball gown, and enter the steamy bathroom. For a second, I just enjoy the sight of Daniel from behind through the foggy glass enclosure, scrubbing his armpits.

‘Need any help in there?’ I say as I let the sheet drop, slide open the glass door and step inside.

‘Hey, hot stuff,’ he says, as I take the washcloth and scrub his back like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Really, it’s because it allows me to keep gazing upon the marvel that is his backside.

‘Can I return the favour?’ he says when I’m finished, and I oblige. His firm scrubbing up and down my back feels soothing, and based on where his hand lingers, I’m pretty sure our feelings about each other’s backsides are mutual.

‘Maybe we should get room service,’ he says as we towel off afterwards, our bodies flushed from the hot water and the mutual scrub-down.

I’d nearly forgotten how handy it is to have someone to reach those impossible-to-access spots on my back.

‘They have a really good pho… though it is meatless.’ He grimaces.

‘Pho sounds perfect.’

He rubs the towel over his hair, which stands on end, and jerks his head towards the shower. ‘Hey, fun fact: did you know that until recently the hotel had metal drainpipes?’

I stop cold, towel gathered around me. ‘Really?’ I carefully secure the towel around my chest.

‘Yeah. Metal drainpipes from the eighties. They’re switching them out for PVCs.’

‘Hadn’t noticed, but hey. Updates are good.’ Mechanically, I bend to flip my hair down, then wrap a second towel around it, turban-style. Pho doesn’t sound so good any more.

‘That death last year,’ he says. ‘Michael Johnson.’

The name hits me like a sucker punch, and for a second, I’m really and truly out of breath.

It’s OK, I reassure myself. It was no secret, and Daniel’s writing an article about the Riovan. Of course he’d come across that unsavoury tidbit.

I straighten. Force myself to breathe normally. Make my face neutral despite the racket of pounding in my chest.

‘Yeah, the music producer, right?’ I say it casually, like I’m going with the flow here. At least… I’m pretty sure I say it casually.

‘Manager,’ he corrects. ‘For Carli Elle. Serena said you knew her, right?’

‘Carli, yeah, she’s great.’

‘Too bad her career hasn’t recovered from losing Michael.’

I make a noncommittal noise, even though this is news to me. I squash the little surge of guilt. Better a career hiccup than a parasitical manager who makes you hate yourself. And yes, I’ll die on that hill.

‘You were working here last summer, weren’t you?’ says Daniel. ‘When he died?’

‘I was.’

‘Must have been intense.’

‘Yeah. It was such a shock. There was a big staff meeting—’ I don’t have to pretend to shiver. ‘Vic was worried about negative media attention. They basically ordered us not to talk about it.’ I look in the mirror and lean in, pretending to examine a spot on my skin.

‘Well, I have a theory about it,’ he says, also casual, like he’s recapping a football game.

‘His … death?’

‘Yep.’

I try to make light. ‘You have a theory about everything.’

He walks up behind me. I force myself to meet his eyes in the slowly unfogging mirror.

‘Well… less of a theory,’ he says. ‘More like something I’ve wondered about, and now that I know you’re an amateur electrician, I might as well ask you.’ He swivels a finger in his ear.

‘Shoot,’ I say, even as I leave the bathroom, the oppressive post-shower humidity, the oppressive closeness of Daniel. I make for my clothes, the red bathing suit like a fallen rose petal on the floor, and the white sweatpants next to it.

My eyes catch on the bed where, ten minutes ago, I was sitting cross-legged and happy, thinking that my life might be taking a new direction.

Then I moved, and the small eternity shattered, just like I knew it would.

It doesn’t have to be ruined. Maybe Daniel is just venting his curiosity.

I should play it cool.

I should get out of here.

Daniel, a towel tied around his waist, follows me. ‘How hard would it be to bypass a breaker for a specific room in a hotel?’

‘Um… no idea?’ I crouch to pick my clothes up off the floor even as a fresh wave of panic washes through my body. Not hard, I think, as long as you know where to find it.

There are electrical panels on every floor, in the utility closets by the ice machines. The doors are locked, and so is the panel itself, but I’m good at getting hold of keys I’m not supposed to have.

‘So theoretically,’ he continues, taking a seat on the side of the bed and leaning back on his arms, ‘if someone wanted to murder Michael Johnson by electrocution in the bathtub, what would you say their first step would be? Bypassing the breaker, right?’

Fuck, fuck, fuck. I want to rewind to the part where I was admiring Daniel’s ass.

‘Sorry… Why would someone want to kill Michael Johnson?’ I think it’s OK that I sound flustered here. Who wouldn’t be? The papers all reported an ‘accident’ that, reading between the lines, could be taken as suicide. Any normal person would be upset at the suggestion of murder.

‘Who knows,’ says Daniel. ‘Show business is cutthroat. I’m sure he made some enemies on his way to the top. You were here when it happened, though. So what do you think?’

Is it just me, or is Daniel looking at me really intensely right now?

Then again, he’s always looking at me intensely.

I bat his question off with a laugh, because the best way to cover up the depths is with a shallow little distraction.

‘I’m a lowly lifeguard, remember? You’re the journalist. What do you think, Daniel Black?’

He grins. ‘Only bad journalists reach their conclusions at the beginning of their research.’

‘I thought he was high when he died.’ I step into my bathing suit and start pulling it up. For some reason, I feel more naked in this moment than when I was literally naked just moments ago.

‘Oh, he was. But the cause of death was definitely electrocution.’

How the hell does he know that? It was clear as day when you looked at the body, of course. But Vic paid off the Saint Lisieux police, just like I figured he would. And it’s not like Michael’s family wanted the details leaked either.

‘Are you… sure?’ I force another laugh. ‘That’s not the story I heard.’

‘Did you hear his Bluetooth speaker was found floating in the bathtub?’

‘No …’

Daniel snorts air out of his nose and shakes his head. ‘The thing is, there’s no way that little speaker had enough voltage to kill him.’ He pauses. ‘Actually, how much voltage would a speaker like that have?’

‘I don’t know,’ I say faintly. Definitely under five volts. Not enough to kill. I looked into it.

‘I’d say under five volts,’ he says. ‘Not lethal. Then again, I’m not the expert.’

His pause tells me he’s waiting for my response.

I’ve never had a heart attack before, but this is probably what it feels like. My heart squeezing out painful beat after painful beat. Spikes in my lungs that light up with pain every time I breathe.