Page 32 of The Homemaker (The Chain of Lakes #1)

Chapter Thirty-Two

Murphy

If you can’t remember how it ended,

did it really end?

I spend the rest of the Fourth with Hunter. Then I keep my head down, work, and eat at my desk, biding my time until Blair and Vera come home.

Alice was engaged, in love with another man.

And she was right. Our time together wasn’t real.

She fell in love with the escape. I was the escape.

On our last night together, the wall between real life and a contrived reality broke.

Why? I don’t know, and I can’t change it anyway.

It’s time to put that time of my life to rest and forge ahead with my future and the woman I’ve known for much longer than a fortnight.

By one o’clock, I look at Blair’s location.

She’s still in New York at the airfield.

I gather my dirty dishes from breakfast and lunch and return them to the kitchen, listening for Alice, hoping to avoid seeing her.

When I succeed, I can’t just be happy that I’m avoiding her.

Instead, I wonder where she’s at. Then I hear laughter, so I follow it all the way to Hunter’s study.

It’s story time.

My curiosity is stronger than my willpower to avoid her, so I stand around the corner from the partially opened door and eavesdrop. Last I knew, she was reading him a romance novel, per Vera’s suggestion.

“I think women write men how they want them to be, not how they are,” Hunter says. “We’re not … what’s the word? Swoony?”

Alice giggles. “But you could be.”

“Do tell, young lady. How do you suppose I become swoony at my age?”

“Actually, you already have some serious swoon game.”

He barks a laugh. “Like what?”

“Every day you tell Vera you love her.”

“There’s nothing special about that. Men should love their wives.”

“Yes, but you whisper it in her ear when you think no one is watching. And I know that doesn’t seem like much, but it’s the little things that mean the most.”

“Go on,” he says. “I’m listening. What else do I need to do?”

“I can’t tell you. These have to be your little things. And you surely have more of them, because Vera is still with you.”

“Have you been swooned?”

Alice chuckles. “Yes.”

I’m not sure I can listen to her talk about the man she lost. Yet, I can’t seem to pull myself away from the door .

“What’s the most unforgettable thing a man has ever done to sweep you off your feet?”

“It’s … nothing. Let’s just finish this chapter. You haven’t fallen asleep. Just close your eyes and stop talking.”

“I’ll stop talking when you tell me.”

She sighs. “I fell for a guy who would stop just before our lips met for a kiss, and he would grin and whisper, ‘Hi.’”

“Hi?”

“I know. It’s hard to explain. But it was intimate, like he wanted to take that extra second to make sure I knew it meant something more than an uncontrolled act of passion.”

“Hi?” Hunter questions again.

Alice giggles. “I’m just saying, it’s the little things. Legit, the tiniest gestures are swoony .”

I lean my head back against the wall and close my eyes.

Me. I’m the guy who said “hi” before I kissed her.

And I’ve never done that with anyone else.

Why did I follow the laughter? I didn’t need to hear her say that.

It’s easier to get over her if I don’t think of what we had as real. But that just made it so fucking real.

“Hey, sexy. Miss me?”

I swivel in my desk chair and grin at Blair standing in the doorway. “As a matter of fact, I did.”

She kicks off her heels and saunters toward me in her tight jeans and white blouse, straddling my lap.

I slide my fingers into her long, blond hair and kiss her because I love her.

I inhale the saffron and rose because I love that too.

We’re getting married. And that’s all that matters.

If only I could stop mentally reciting the reasons.

If only I could say that I thought about her nonstop while she was gone.

“Shut the door,” I whisper in her ear before kissing her neck. Maybe all I need is to bury myself inside of her and forget about everything and everyone but her.

“Baby, I have so much to tell you.”

I begin to unbutton her blouse. “We’ll talk later.”

She pulls my hands away and giggles. “Stop. I’m serious.”

I blow out a long breath and lean back, scratching the back of my head. “Okay then. Let’s hear it.”

“Well,” she climbs off my lap and plops onto the bed, crisscrossing her legs, “the studio plans are beyond my wildest dreams.” Her voice escalates into pure giddiness.

I can’t help but smile.

“And I hope you were serious about letting my mom and me pick out an apartment because I found one within walking distance of my studio, and I put down a deposit to hold it. Look at these pictures.” She taps her phone and hands it to me.

I scroll through them. “Looks good.” I hand the phone back to her.

She deflates. “Good? Baby, did you see the hearth over the fireplace? It’s a work of art.”

I nod. “That’s what I meant. It looks like a work of art.”

Blair rolls her eyes. “You suck. I’m glad I took my mom. She knows how to be appropriately happy for me.”

“What was her appropriate response?”

“Jumping up and down and squealing. Then we headed straight to Restoration Hardware and ordered furniture.”

I nodded. “Great. Thanks for doing that.”

She grins. “You’re welcome. ”

I gesture toward the door. “Now, can you close the door and take off your clothes?”

Her nose wrinkles. “What’s your deal? When I suggest we have sex during the day, you get uptight about my parents being awake and hearing us, but now you’re ready to just go at it at”—she inspects her watch—“four in the afternoon?”

“I’ve missed you.”

“Aw …” She makes duck lips. “I missed you too, baby. But I want to get a workout in before dinner.”

“Great idea. I’ll let you ride me.” I lean forward and reach for her hand.

She pulls away and scrambles off the other side of the bed. “Tonight.” She blows me a kiss.

I wait for her to change her mind, but the only change she makes is into her leggings and sports bra.

“My parents are going out to dinner tonight, so we’ll have the house to ourselves for a few hours. How does that sound?”

I scrub my hands over my face and look at her with a manufactured smile and a tiny nod.

“I’m jogging to the park and doing some stretching there before heading home. Give me an hour?”

Again, I nod.

“Enjoy your dinner,” she says to her parents in the hallway.

“Alice is making a quiche for tomorrow morning,” Vera says. “If you want her to make you two dinner, let her know before she leaves for the night.”

“Murphy and I will fend for ourselves, but I’ll tell her on my way out the back door,” Blair replies.

I stare out the window and wait for Vera and Hunter to pull onto the street. A few seconds later, Blair jogs down the sidewalk. I should stay in my room and wait for her to return. Maybe we’ll shower together.

Unfortunately, I’ve never been good at doing what I should do, so I head to the kitchen. “I hear you have the night off.”

Alice jerks her head up like I’ve startled her, then she seethes, quickly looking back down at the cutting board filled with diced onion and blood.

“Oh, shit,” I say, grabbing a towel.

“It’s f-fi.” She passes out, and I catch her before she hits the floor.

“Alice?” I ease her onto her back and wrap her cut finger with a towel before pulling out a drawer to prop up her feet.

Her eyes slowly open.

“Welcome back. I think you’ll need a couple of stitches.”

She hugs her wrapped hand to her chest. “I ruined the quiche,” she says in a weak voice.

“I don’t think you need to concern yourself with that. Let’s go get this taken care of.”

“I’ve got it.” She winces, trying to sit up. “Oh god, is it bad?”

I laugh a little. “I take it you don’t handle blood well.”

“Not mine. Ugh, I feel nauseous.”

“Just don’t look at it. Look at me. Chin up.” I lift her off the floor, and she drops her gaze to her hand. “Alice, look at me.”

She swallows hard, skin pasty white. “Just call me a cab.”

“I’m not calling you a cab,” I say, carrying her down the stairs to the garage.

“It feels weird,” she says in a desperate tone. “Did you look at it? Is it still attached? Is part of my finger still on the cutting board. Oh god …” She closes her eyes, each breath more labored than the previous one.

It’s not funny, so I try not to laugh, but I’ve never seen this side of her. I set her on her feet, keeping one arm around her waist as I open the passenger door.

“I’m going to pass out again. I need the seat to be leaned back.”

“I’ve got you.”

She closes her eyes and groans like a wounded animal as I push the seat recline button. Then I fasten her in, and we head to urgent care.

I call Blair on the way. “Hey, baby,” Blair says, panting. “I’m not even to the park yet. What do you need?”

“Alice cut her finger. I’m taking her to urgent care.”

“I’m … I’m sorry,” Alice mumbles.

“What did she say?” Blair asks.

“She’s not doing well with the blood, but she’s trying to apologize to you even though there is no need to apologize.”

“Ouch. Well, I hope she’ll be okay.”

“Nothing a couple of stitches won’t take care of. I’ll see you when we get back.”

“K,” she says before I disconnect the call.

“Ugh, I ruined your night. I’m so sorry.”

“You have not ruined anything. And it’s my fault for startling you.”

“Not true. I ruined tomorrow’s breakfast.”

“Hunter loves his steak rare. I’m sure he’ll enjoy his quiche a little bloody as well.”

“Stop,” she tries to laugh, but it sounds more like a moan.

When we reach urgent care, I help her inside. It doesn’t take long to update her medical records, but the waiting room is crowded. Alice slides down in the chair and tries to lean her head back. Her face is still ghostly.

“Lie on my lap or lean against me before you pass out again,” I say.

“I’m fine,” she says in a weak voice.

“You don’t sound fine.” I wrap my arm around her, forcing her to lean against me.

She’s called back before other people, perhaps because there’s blood involved, or maybe they don’t want her passing out in front of everyone else.

“I hope I don’t lose my finger,” Alice says, curled up in a ball on the exam table while we wait for the doctor.

I bite back my grin. “I hope not either.”

“Did I ruin your plans for the night? Were you and Blair going out to dinner too?”

“Nope. We’re staying in. And I don’t think this will take all night unless you get transferred to the hospital for surgery.”

Her head whips in my direction. “Do you think that will happen?”

“No,” I say with a chuckle.

She frowns.

“Do you want me to call Callen?”

“So you do think I’m going to lose my finger?” Her eyes narrow.

“I think the effects of your minor blood loss could last for a while.”

“I’ll be fine. If I pass out,” she sighs like she might do just that, “I’ll eventually come to. Besides, he’s out of town. I don’t think he needs to get on a plane for my finger.”

After a quick knock on the door, a young woman in a white coat steps inside. “Hi, Alice. I’m Dr. Friedman. ”

The nurse follows her.

“I’m sorry. Blood makes me queasy. Well, my own blood,” Alice says.

The doctor smiles while donning a pair of gloves. “That’s okay. Feel free to look away or close your eyes.”

As the nurse unwraps Alice’s hand, the doctor inspects the finger, and Alice tips her chin up, looking at the ceiling.

“Alice, I think we’re going to clean that up and just use a little glue. No stitches. How does that sound?”

Alice swallows and returns a tiny nod while keeping her focus on the ceiling. The doctor gives me a brief glance and a tiny grin.

It’s a quick procedure and we’re back in the car and on our way home in no time.

“The color in your face looks better,” I say, shooting her a sidelong glance.

“Thanks for the compliment.” She stares out the window.

I chuckle. “Anytime.”

“I overheard Vera telling Mr. Morrison that she and Blair found an apartment. That must be exciting,” she murmurs.

“I heard that too.”

Alice turns toward me, but I keep my eyes trained on the road. I overheard something, too, and now I can’t stop thinking about kissing Alice Yates and whispering “hi” before our lips touch.

“Can I ask if you’re better now? Fourteen months of intensive therapy seems like a lot. And if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine.”

“I love the way you refer to a psychiatric hospital as ‘intensive therapy.’”

“Sorry. ”

“Don’t be. I think I’m going to use intensive therapy from now on. It’s a little less scary than a psychiatric hospital. And yes, I’m better now. You don’t have to tiptoe around me like everyone else.”

“Does Callen tiptoe around you?”

“No, because he doesn’t know about that part of my life.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want him to tiptoe around me. Geesh, Murph. I thought you were following the conversation better than this.”

I grin. She hasn’t called me “Murph” since she stayed at my rental.

When we reach the house, I pull the white SUV into the drive closest to the guesthouse and hop out, jogging around the front then opening her door.

“I’ve got it,” she says, reaching for the seat belt at the same time I do.

I retreat a step to let her slide out of the vehicle. Then, with my hand cupping her elbow, I gently guide her to the door.

“The quiche,” she says as I open the door.

“I’ll clean it up and suggest everyone go to brunch in the morning.”

“I don’t want you cleaning up my mess,” she says, easing onto the sofa with her hand hugged to her chest like she’s lost an entire digit.

“Welcome to my world,” I say. “And yet, you continue to do things for me. This is the least I can do.” I crouch before her, resting my hands on the cushion beside her legs.

She seems to hold her breath under the scrutiny of my endless gaze.

“That night …” I briefly close my eyes, sh aking my head.

“I don’t remember that night,” she whispers. “How did it end?”

I open my eyes into tiny slits. “You … you don’t know?”

She slowly shakes her head.

I blink, expressionless, motionless, until my throat bobs in a hard swallow.

“We were on our way home from dinner. You were leaving the next day. It was raining, and I hit the brakes.” I shake my head.

“I didn’t hit them hard. We weren’t in any danger, but we skidded a little and you panicked, opened the door, and jumped out just before the bridge.

I stopped the car and chased after you as you slid down the embankment, yelling for Chris. ”

Our gazes meet, and I take a moment, unsure if I can tell her without losing myself again. Maybe it will feel like a story with different characters—fictional ones.