Never Let You Go(27)

My cell phone rings. “It’s my brother.” Greg pauses the movie.

“Just wanted to check on you,” Chris says. “Everything all right?” His voice reminds me so much of our father’s, but he has my mom’s fair looks, and her upbeat everything-is-going to-be-okay personality. When I’m with Chris, I feel like both my parents are still with me, which is comforting. I didn’t expect to lose them so young and I miss them every day. Chris has been a great uncle to Sophie, protective and loyal, always coming to her recitals or soccer games, and every holiday dinner. Since Sophie’s gotten older she travels over to the island and spends the weekend with him and his girlfriend. She can’t wait to have a little baby cousin to spoil.

“So far, yeah. But can we talk tomorrow? Greg is over right now.”

He pauses, and I know he’s curious—I’ve told him about Greg, but only that we’re dating, not that he spends the night. “Okay, call me in the morning.”

I set my phone down on the coffee table, and turn back to Greg. He shifts his weight so we’re face-to-face.

“So when do I get to meet your brother?” he says. “We’ve been dating for nearly three months. He’s probably starting to wonder what’s wrong with me.” He says it with a cheeky smile that shows off his dimples (one on his left check and a little divot in his chin), but there’s a serious, almost shy tone to his voice. I’m surprised, hadn’t thought he was all that concerned about meeting my brother.

“I haven’t introduced Chris to a boyfriend for a long time.” I laugh nervously and pick up the bowl. Greg made the popcorn, insisting the butter had to be layered right. He tossed it with a salad fork and spoon, the tattoos on his forearms flexing—a brightly colored phoenix, flames twisting high and disappearing under his sleeve, where I know they meet with a poker hand, the words KING OF HEARTS across his pectoral.

He smiles. “So I’m a boyfriend?”

“Do you want to be my boyfriend?” I don’t want to have this conversation right now, when half of my mind is wondering where Andrew is tonight, if he might even be watching my house, but it’s happening whether I like it or not.

“I don’t know. Does it come with any perks?” His warm hand traces a circle on my thigh, moving upward, and my body tenses. I’m not in the mood and I’m about to suggest we just snuggle, but then I realize this is exactly what Andrew wants—to get inside my head and mess with my life. Greg and I have great sex. He’s the only man I’ve slept with since Andrew, and it was strange at first, his mouth and body not as forceful, but he let me take the lead, which was exciting and new. I learned sex could be fun. I’m not going to let Andrew take that away.

“Let’s go to bed and I’ll show you.”

While Greg heads to my room, I turn off the lights and text, Goodnight, to Sophie, who’s spending the night at Delaney’s. I check the dead bolt on the front door and take a quick glance out the window to the road. I used to sense when Andrew was driving home before I even heard his truck, could feel that flutter in my stomach as he rounded the last curve.

I close my eyes, put my hand over my stomach. It’s calm, but I know Andrew has something else planned. Will mind games be enough for him? Or is he going to try to hurt me? I remember his threats to kill me, how strong he is when he’s angry, how nothing in this world can stop him. I touch my neck, feel the warm skin, my pulse. I’m alive, I’m still breathing.

I take one more look out the window, and follow Greg to the bedroom.



I wake at seven to the sound of rain. One of the gutters must be plugged, the water cascading in a loud waterfall outside my window. I’ll have to call the landlord. I force myself out of bed and into the kitchen, switching on lights. Greg went home at midnight and the house is quiet. He rarely spends the night. I say it’s because of Sophie, but the truth is I panic sometimes when I wake up with him in my bed, his heavy leg wrapped around mine suddenly too much.

Now I wish I had asked him to stay. I could have buried myself against his warm side, listened to the rumble of his deep voice, which always sounds rougher in the morning, like liquid gravel. I’d traced my finger over his scars: one from his appendix surgery, the long raised one down his leg from a chain saw, the jagged one on his collarbone from a motorbike accident when he was a teenager. I’ve never known a man with so many scars.

I put the coffee on, drink a cup while I make my lunch, then fill a thermos with the rest. I’m going to need the energy. Today I have two houses to clean, then a training session with Marcus. My first client of the day is one of my oddest. Joe, a man in his fifties, who’s had a head injury and suffers from short-term memory loss—his family hired me. Sometimes he forgets I’m in the house and visibly startles when he finds me scrubbing his bathtub. A couple of times I’ve been the one who’s startled by the sight of Joe lounging in the living room in his striped boxer shorts, eating canned chicken or spaghetti, and once he was dancing to “Let It Go,” from Frozen, wearing his tablecloth as a cape. He urged me to join in, calling me “Anna.” I hesitated for a moment, then wielded my mop like a microphone and gave it my best shot.

After I’m finished cleaning for Joe, who spent most of the time watching Matlock reruns, I move on to a my second job of the day, a large two-story house with four very busy, very messy kids all under the age of twelve. Today it’s not too bad, though, and I finish a little early, so I decide to stop at the bank on the way to Marcus’s house and get some cash. As I wait for the machine to spit out my money, I feel an odd sensation in my stomach, a flutter of nerves. I quickly glance behind me, but there’s no one else in line.