Page 42 of Under Locke & Key

It’s easy to lose myself in the demands of the last big rush—the final push that will make or break the last few months of my life.

Somehow, in a short span of time, everything is different.

I don’t wake up dreading every day. I don’t spend it constantly being second guessed or passed over.

Bryce considers me an equal, even more sometimes when he says things about how smart or brilliant or creative I am.

The fulfillment is only rivaled by the warmth that being by his side brings.

But there’s a pall, a niggle at the back of my mind.

When it’s dark and quiet and Bryce is asleep beside me, my thoughts race.

Combing over every part of my conversation with my mother and analyzing how all the little lies by omission—from my burn out to my sexuality—and keeping my feelings to myself for so long caused it all to go wrong.

Was it during the months here in Dulaney? Before? Was it when I realized that I hated piano but kept taking lessons because she thought it would help me be more well-rounded? When I stopped looking for faces that echoed mine in photographs?

As the days stretch into a week, then two, then more .

. . I ache. As much as things between us are strained, as much as I want to please her and prove my worth—I can’t take it anymore.

I have to be my own person. I just wish my mom could see that all the tools, all the work and time she gave served their purpose.

Just because I’m not living out the life she devised for me doesn’t mean it’s not a good one—a great one even.

Bryce doesn’t bring it up again outside of his genuine, “I’m here if you want to talk,” type thing—giving me the space to work through my thoughts and feelings and I appreciate it.

As we get closer to the end it’s become clearer that he’s the kind of person who keeps things close to the vest and needs time to process but once he does he’s honest. Him affording me the same has been so helpful.

All the dude-bros and fuckboys in D.C., all the girls I dated that weren’t in it as deep as I was—they all fade away under what I might consider my first healthy relationship.

So far. Not that we’ve labeled it. I’m trying really hard not to worry about the fact that we haven’t.

But that’s just my anxious attachment style fighting its way to the surface.

So I distract myself by working until my body aches and my brain is fuzzy.

Puzzles are so much harder than I thought and I severely underestimated the amount of story that goes into this.

We’ve had to come up with contingencies so that if people approach clues wrong they’re still able to make sense of the rooms.

At night and on weekends I work on coding.

On shaping the tools that will take this endeavor from good to great.

Light controls and timers. Voice modifiers.

Hook ups to fog machines and ringing phones.

It’s a carefully orchestrated mess right now and I’m terrified I won’t be able to pull it all together.

“What’s going on in that brain of yours?” Bryce asks, his voice thick with sleep.

Morning spills into the bedroom through the crack under the door and the space where the curtain doesn’t touch the wall. It’s early though; the alarms haven’t gone off yet. He smells like his cologne and my shampoo and the combination is heady in a way I don’t have words for.

“Just thinking about everything we need to get done.” I try to brush it off and snuggle against him instead.

Bryce pulls me into the cradle of his arms, and although it’s already too hot for us to be this close and stay comfortable, I allow it for the peace that it brings.

When he holds me, when he kisses me or we lose ourselves in each other's bodies, it's the only time I feel like I can breathe normally.

“We’ll manage it. If you need to take a break or need to reach out to someone else to help supplement the digital stuff, please do that.

You don’t have to work yourself into the ground to prove you can do it.

I know you can. But there’s something to be said for limits and knowing what they are.

” The words are too profound to be coming from that morning gravel making me think of everything but work.

“Pot calling the kettle black there, don’t you think?” I inject a hint of teasing into my tone and in retaliation I get tickled in the ribs.

Squirming to get away, my erratic laughing leaving me breathless, Bryce is relentless. His tickles are interspersed with kisses pressed to everywhere but my mouth so I can catch my breath before he steals it again.

In that pale light, his features are soft with the smile on his face, adoration when he looks at me .

. . all I want is to ask. Bryce is constantly going on about needing words from me.

I don’t know how to tell him I want the same.

Like he alluded, I’ve never been very good at admitting weakness or asking for what I need.

“Good. You looked like you needed that,” Bryce says as we each lay on our backs and try to get our breaths under control. The occasional huff of laughter still slips out and it’s been such a long time since I laughed so hard my sides hurt.

I want this. I want this for so much longer than just this contract term and I don’t know how to ask for that either when there’s no telling where we stand.

My lease goes until December though—the original date. I can always try to find something else in Dulaney. If nothing comes along I’ll slink back to D.C. and slot back into the corporate space. Regardless of the state of my relationship and heart, bills need to get paid.

“So did you. How have you been holding up? You’ve taken all the shake ups with grace but I want you to know it’s okay if you’re stressed. You can tell me. I know that ‘boss Bryce’ can’t divulge when things are shaky with the business but you’re more than that to me.”

So much more.

He shifts onto his side, eyes combing over my face. His expression turns serious and the pit in my stomach has a gravity to it that I never noticed before.

“I’m terrified.” Bryce’s confession settles between us like another entity in the room and I shuffle under the covers to press a kiss against his nose.

“I don’t talk about it or her much but the divorce kind of knocked me on my ass.

This whole thing was a spur of the moment way to spite her and it’s grown into so much more.

This has gone from a far-fetched version of ‘I think I can do this better than some of the others out there’ to ‘holy crap, this is actually happening’ and I’m not sure what it’s going to look like once the dust settles.

” The quiet of early morning, the lack of car sounds and people talking outside the window make his words swallow the silence.

I run my fingers up and down the outside of his arm, watching goosebumps form and spread, dispersing until I trail my way back and coax them out again—my small form of comfort when I’m not quite sure what to say.

Because he doesn’t talk about his ex much and hearing that this started as a “fuck you” has me uneasy for reasons I’m too scared to examine.

Does he still feel like that? Is all this for her sake?

“You’ve come so far. Don’t let the echoes from the past cause you to doubt what you’re doing here.

Despite constant setbacks you’re set to open a full three months earlier than planned.

Although we won’t have the December fest to use as promotion, it might be for the best. Instead of the focus being on the town we turn it to us. ”

Bryce catches my hand when it brushes over the back of his and brings my palm to his lips.

Kiss pressed against my life line, my heart pounds.

How something so innocuous and small can throw me off balance is astounding.

If anything I feel less nervous when it’s just sex.

Not that any of this has felt like “just sex” to begin with.

“Do you have doubts?” Bryce asks and I’m not sure what to touch on first.

“Work, love, life? What category would you like me to answer for first?” I try to make it sound like a dry joke but something twitches in his jaw when I say the word love and my stomach does a somersault.

“All of the above?”

“I think doubt means we have something to lose. Something to want. I think doubt and fear are vital emotions because they show us what’s important. The big thing to remember is that we can’t let them rule everything,” I say.

Sucking in a deep breath, letting the feelings I’ve been trying to suppress rise to the surface, I answer. “Am I worried that I fucked up my relationship with my mother beyond repair because I was too scared to tell my parents my life was changing—that I was disappointing them? Yes.”

Bryce kisses the pad of my thumb and I continue, words spewing without thought.

“Am I nervous that I might have tanked my whole career because I couldn’t put up with the misogyny? Yes.”

Another kiss, this one on the pad of my index finger, as if he’s ticking each one off of my fingers like a list.

“Am I concerned that I’m in over my head with this escape room project and that the scope of it is more than I was ready or qualified for? Yep.”

Lips on my middle finger and every touch is like a shock down my arm. But his eyes are still soft, his brow slightly furrowed as he lets me speak my piece.

“Am I terrified that this thing between us is happening and it’s in this weird space between real and unreal where everything is hazy and perfect, and one wrong move could screw it all up?” My breath shudders out of my lungs. “I’ve never been more scared in my life.”

Bryce kisses down my ring finger then threads his fingers between mine, pulling it closer so he can place another on the back of my hand.