Burying Water (Burying Water #1)(67)
I don’t want to wake her to make the bed, so I instead dig into the cedar chest in the corner to find my grandmother’s favorite blue-and-red checkered blanket. I was only eleven when my dad’s mother died. My granddad, in good shape until the day he succumbed to a massive heart attack, decided to turn the attic space into an apartment for himself. Previously, we had all lived together in the main house. Given my parents’ work schedules, the arrangement worked well for taking care of Amber and me when we were kids. But granddad wanted nothing to do with living in the house with teenagers.
I cover Alex with the blanket, hoping she doesn’t mind the wool texture. Then, after quickly washing up in the small bathroom in the corner, I start a fire in the woodstove, turn off the lights, and edge into the old brown Barcalounger, the only piece of living room furniture left in here and a rickety piece of shit that squeals in protest with my weight. I don’t want to assume that Alex would be okay with waking up next to me in bed.
Leaning back slowly, I get as comfortable as I possibly can. And then I close my eyes and listen to her low, shallow breaths.
“Jesse.”
My head springs up with a deep breath of panic. Alex’s face appears in my blurry vision. I guess I managed to fall asleep in this old chair after all. Now I feel worse than when I sat down.
“Come.” She takes my hand and tugs me until I get out of the chair, leading me to the bed. It’s still dark out, but the fire casts enough glow.
“Wait, let me get the—”
“No, this is perfect. Really.” She’s still whispering. The girl who drives a BMW Z8, and wears probably two years’ worth of my salary on her finger, curls up on an unmade bed with an old wool blanket and says it’s perfect.
I don’t think I’ll ever judge another person based on a first impression again, thanks to Alex.
Grabbing a pillow, I dump my keys and phone onto the nightstand and slide into the other side of the double bed. Alex stretches the blanket over my lower half and then presses up against my shoulder. I instinctually lift my arm and she doesn’t waste a second tucking herself up against my body, resting her head on my chest, her palm over my racing heart.
To say I’m turned on would be wrong, because Alex is hurt and all I want to do is hold her until she feels better. But I feel at ease. And I want her to be at ease too, here in my world, where there is plenty of room for her, where I won’t let Viktor hurt her.
I can’t say who drifts off first but when I do, it is with a sense of contentment that I don’t ever remember feeling before.
My ringing phone beside my head wakes me up. It takes me a second to recognize where I am, and another to notice Alex lying next to me, still asleep, her pale blond hair draping her face like a curtain. At some point she detached herself from my chest but she’s still molded to the side of my body, keeping me warm. The fire went out long ago, leaving us with the one electric baseboard heater and a chill in the air.
“Yup,” I croak, unable to manage a whisper, my deep voice too groggy first thing.
“What happened to you?” Boone’s voice asks at the other end.
Giving my eyes a good rub, I stare up at the pitched ceiling, gathering my wits. Morning light streams past the gauzy orange-and-yellow striped curtain, showing me the detailed webs of several spiders up in the ceiling beams. I should probably clear those out before Alex notices them. “What do you mean?”
“You left work early and I never heard from you again. What was in NoPo?”
I sigh. It’s hard not to jostle the bed when I get out but I do my best, tiptoeing over to the window, giving my body a good stretch. “My payment.”
“You serious?”
“Yup. Decent shape, too.” I’m torn. Three hours driving that car here and I know I’m never letting it go, though I probably should.
“Sweet! Why didn’t you bring it home, then?”
From my vantage point, I can see the Fitzgerald ranch next to me, the black iron grates in the first-floor windows that apparently I inspired. I used to spend a lot of time over there as a kid, running with the horses. Things changed in high school, though. Now I wouldn’t be surprised if the old bat has a gun loaded, ready to shoot me on sight. My relationship with Ginny is a lot like the one with my dad: no matter what I do, I’ll never get back in her good graces. And I didn’t even do anything to her. “Had some things to finish up at Viktor’s and then headed straight for my parents’. Gonna work on it all weekend.” Rustling behind me has me checking over my shoulder. Alex, changing positions, but from the looks of it, still out cold. Either way, I don’t want to wake her up. “Listen, I’ve gotta go. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
When I hang up with Boone, I make my way into the bathroom. Another cramped space, with poor lighting, a small tub, and a toilet that sometimes runs. The door doesn’t even close completely. All fine for an old man whose focus was on function versus style. Perfect for a young guy who doesn’t really care about much else besides a bed and a shower. Not nearly adequate for a woman like Alex and the kind of life she’s grown accustomed to living. I want her to leave Viktor, but why do I assume she’ll leave him for me? For this?
With a heavy exhale, I peel off my clothes and switch on the shower, waiting for the water raining down from the low-pressure head to get hot before climbing in. I know she says she’d trade all her money just to be happy, but would she really? Isn’t that a green-grass statement that only the rich make? She didn’t come from money, but she married for it; she admitted as much.