Page 10 of Faded Rhythm

Sable

I pull the black robe tightly around myself, the silk clinging to my skin, which is still warm from the heat of embarrassment.

I don’t know what the hell possessed me to do what I did. I’m not the kind of woman who strips down for a man she barely knows—especially not one who held a gun to her head. But there I was, naked and desperate on the floor. And he wouldn’t even look at me.

I stare at my reflection in my dresser mirror. My eyes are a little glassy from the wine, but that’s not why I did it.

I wanted to be seen again.

For him to look and see me. Sable. Not mommy, or wife, or daughter, or room mom every third Tuesday of the month. Me. My body. My desire. My loneliness.

The robe slides down my shoulder a bit, but I don’t adjust it right away.

I stare at the curve of my exposed collarbone, the slope of my neck, wondering if I still look beautiful to someone.

Anyone. I see it. I know I look good. But my confidence has taken a hit.

I don’t feel powerful in this skin anymore.

Desired. Now I just feel like a ghost, moving through this world unseen and untouched.

I shake off the thought and head back downstairs.

King is in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with one hand braced on the edge and the other lifting a bottle of water to his lips.

I pause just inside the doorway, watching the muscles in his throat flex as he drinks.

His Adam’s apple bobs with every swallow, and even that, something as mundane as drinking water, looks rugged and disciplined when he does it.

He notices me, finally, and sets his bottle down.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable earlier,” I say.

His eyebrow lifts just before he lets out a short laugh. “You’re apologizing to the man who broke into your house and held you at gunpoint?” He shook his head. “That says a lot about your character.”

I cross my arms in front of me, a little defensive. “I meant it.”

“I believe you.” His expression softens. “No apology necessary.”

I nod, my eyes dropping to the floor beneath my feet.

“Just so you know, that wasn’t about you. I’m just…very disciplined when I’m in work mode.”

Work mode. Is that a switch he flips to shut off anything remotely human? I’m not sure I buy that, but I don’t call him out.

I take a breath. “So…what’s next?

He grabs his phone from the table. “I darkened the photo a little. Enough to hide the details. I’m about to send it to him. That should kick things off.” He thrusts his phone toward me so I can see. “He’ll wait for the call, but we have maybe twenty-four hours before he starts to question things.”

My eyes shift to the image. I look good lying there. Sexy. Did he capture me well, or am I seeing myself for the first time in a long time? I’m not sure.

“I have a guy who can call him with the death notification. Act like police.”

I nod slowly, puzzling my way through it. “He’ll catch the next flight back. He’s in Tennessee, I think, so he’ll be back no later than early evening.”

“Okay…”

“I can take the girls to my sister’s house,” I say. “But if he shows up to get them, he’ll tell them I’m dead. That’s the last thing I want.”

King studies me for a moment, then nods. “We’ll bring them with us. Keep them close. That’s the only way they stay in the dark.”

We go quiet, thinking about the implications. The kitchen is still. The air is still. I can hear the hum of the fridge, the ticking of the wall clock, and the sound of my own shallow breathing.

Then I look up at him. His face is unreadable, but his posture is relaxed. And I feel comfortable. It’s odd given how the day started.

“I know this might seem strange,” I begin, “but I was wondering if you would mind…sleeping over tonight.”

His brows lift.

“I don’t know what Brett’s up to,” I explain. “I don’t feel safe. I think I’d sleep better if you were in the house.”

He stares for a few beats, then gives me a single nod. “Of course. I can sleep down here on the couch.”

He sees something on my face, something I don’t know is there. “Or right outside your door, if you want me to,” he offers.

“No. You don’t have to do that,” I say. “But if you really don’t mind…”

“I really don’t,” he says. His voice is firm. “I have a go-bag in my car. I’m gonna run and grab it.”

I watch him walk away, noting the strength in his gait. Everything about him is controlled and precise. But sometimes, when he looks at me— really looks—I see something else under the surface. Something raw. Maybe even fragile.

He returns a minute later with a gym bag slung over his shoulder. I smell the faint trace of his cologne mixed with the night air when he passes me. He sets the bag down at the foot of the stairs and glances over at me.

“Thank you,” I say. “For agreeing to this.”

“It’s nothing,” he replies.

With that, I head upstairs, passing dangerously close to him as I ease by him to get to the stairs. His eyes follow my every move, but I don’t know if it’s methodical observation or something more.

I’m halfway up the stairs when he says, “Goodnight, Sable.”

I stop, but I don’t turn around.

“Goodnight.”

My heart is hammering by the time I make it inside my bedroom, every nerve lit with awareness.

I close the door, disrobe, sink down onto my bed, and pull the covers around me.

But they don’t warm the places I need them to.

I stare at the ceiling, trying to quiet my mind.

Trying to ignore the pleasant ache between my thighs.

Then I hear it.

The sound of wood scraping gently across the hardwood floor.

He’s getting his chair into position outside my door.

I exhale.

He’s out there. Watching. Protecting.

I drift off with that thought wrapped around me like a second blanket.

And for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel so alone.