Page 33 of Love JD

I’d given up alcohol entirely almost two years ago, but when Amos had found June… it had changed me. He had changed. And I found myself envious. He had a calm look about him, like June was the best kind of drug, and he got a hit every time he was around her. If grumpy-as-fuck Amos could find peace, then why couldn’t I?

Amos had been older when Mom had died, and Azura had fallen apart all at once and sort of dragged herself through the pain right from the beginning. I’d ignored it, and it had come back to bite me in the ass.

So, I was building a garden. For her, for me, and for whatever version of myself I was chasing. It had the same satisfying burn as a full-body day at the gym, and I intended to keep going until I had worked up my mental strength in the same way I conditioned my body to endure exercise. I would push through the painful moments until it hurt less, and then hopefully, I might have some days where the pain wouldn’t cripple me. Even trying, even feeling things fully without numbing the memories, reminded me that she would have wanted this for me. She would have wanted me to grow from the pain, not wilt under it.

Although, I thought with some self-deprecation, she might not have been impressed with my wood-staining skills. I grimaced as I took in the splotchy brown streaks over the wood grain. How did a guy mess up wood staining?

As I swiped the stain-soaked rag over the cedar board again, the overhead lights dimmed for a moment. I glanced up, suspicion poking through my thoughts.

Then the lights went dead.

Chapter ten

Isla

Zev lived in a fairytale house. If someone had told me that hulking Zev Brady lived in Disneyworld, I would have believed them more readily than believing he lived in this charming white cottage. But I couldn’t deny what I saw, and what I saw was the most darling house on the street, complete with a white fence and blooming flowers in boxes beneath the windows.

My bedroom had masculine, modern furniture like he had brought over the contents from his swanky high-rise to furnish his cottage, but I liked the contrast. I spent a little while setting up my laptop on the oak desk and unpacking a few toiletries I didn’t want to fish through my bag to find. My nerves wound down as I did, uncoiling like a tree swing that had been twisted and let loose. It helped that I could take off my ankle brace for a while. The doctor had said after a week, I could leave it off at night and just wear it when I was out and about during the day. Or, I decided as I glanced at it, never again.

I gathered my shampoo and conditioner, and then peeking into the bathroom Zev had pointed to, I found the stack of clean towels on a shelf above the toilet. Being in other people’s houses usually made me vaguely nauseated, but I felt alright about being with Zev. Probably because he’d already seen me as a total dumpster fire, so really, how much worse could I get?

The bathroom had an interesting mix of modern glass shower with river rock tile on the floor and an antique vibe with a clawfoot tub and distressed mirror. A bright, storybook window took up most of the far wall, and a pedestal sink had been flanked by wall-mounted, farmhouse-style counters. He didn’t have any personal things in this bathroom, so I had to assume that he had an en suite bathroom in the master bedroom for his things. That made me feel even better that I wasn’t invading his privacy, and I relaxed under the hot stream of water.

As I brushed my wet hair with my towel tucked around my breasts, I decided that getting kidnapped was actually a lot like staying in a nice BnB, and if I really was done with classes for the summer, then I should probably enjoy myself. I fetched my hair dryer and curling iron from my bag, and as the steam in the bathroom dissipated, I plugged in the curling iron and set it to “fires of Mordor hot” for my thick hair. While I waited for it to heat up, I switched on the hair dryer. It usually took a Triassic age to get all my hair dry, so I started upright, and then when it was almost dry, I bent over to blast the bottom roots with heat. It was while I had my hair flipped over, the ends brushing the dark slate tile, that the power suddenly died.

I stood up, flipping my hair back like a fluffy veil, and I looked around in confusion. I hadn’t noticed it storming outside, so why had the power died? Suddenly shivering, I set down the hair dryer and shuffled out of the bathroom with uncertain glances left and right. From down the hall, I made out the fact that the kitchen light was still on, and the floodlights out back illuminated the tidy back yard.

Weird.

The garage door was just down the hall past my bedroom, so I tentatively padded barefoot to the door and eased it open. It made a sticky shwick sound, and inside the garage was even darker than inside the house. “Zev?” I asked quietly. It smelled like chemicals, and the cool night air drifted in from an open door at the back.

“Did you trip my breaker?” Zev demanded with amusement lacing his voice in the darkness.

“Did I…?” I paused, thinking. Oh. “Is that what happened?”

“Were you doing something that uses a lot of power?” he asked.

“Do hairdryers use a lot of power?”

“Yes.” He choked on a laugh. “You never tripped a breaker growing up?”

“Uh… I don’t think so. I spent a lot of time in hotels, honestly.”

“That’s not normal. Anyway, the electrical panel is in the living room. Old house problems. I’d do it, but my hands are covered in stain. It’s going to take me a minute.”

“Right,” I nodded, having no clue what the hell he was talking about. “I got it. Sorry.” Then I closed the door before I could embarrass myself any worse than I already had. I’d tripped the breaker with my hair dryer. Smooth.

Blue shadows wrapped the hallway, slanting off the doorways and dead light fixtures. My skin pebbled, and I folded my arms tightly over my breasts as I made my way past the doors and back to the bathroom where I’d left my phone. I wasn’t about to admit to Zev that I was going to Google “trip a breaker,” but I had no idea what the fuck he was talking about.

As I scrolled through articles, I held my towel in place with one hand and made my way to the living room, which was at least partially illuminated by the half of the house that still had power. His living room looked absurdly cozy, with a wood stove tucked away in a brick-laid corner, and well-stuffed, linen couches draped with knit throws. I peered at the article that talked about tripped breakers and flipping switches and making sure they were labeled.

I scratched the back of my neck, looking around the living room walls for the “panel” that should look like some kind of metal box. I found a black rectangle over by the wood stove, and with a timid poke, I confirmed that it was, in fact, a thin door. It opened up to a panel tangled with wires that crept out from little black switches. I looked down at the picture on my phone, which showed a tidy panel of easily distinguishable black knobs and definitely no wires.

This seemed like a great way to get myself electrocuted. But looking closer, I did notice that the switches still looked similar to the ones in the picture, and logically, it wasn’t like the breaker switches would electrocute me if they were meant to be switched on and off. Wires or not, I just needed to find the one that I had “tripped.” Right? I lifted a hand and hovered it over the switches uncertainly.

The smell of wood stain suddenly surrounded me, and a warm shape pressed against my back as Zev reached around me to flick the breaker switch back into position. He put his other hand on my hip as he did, and his warmth sent a shiver down my arms. I barely noticed the lights down the hallway turning on, and the living room remained doused in semi-darkness. I twisted around, pressing my phone against the knot in the towel over my cleavage.

Zev had on a paint-stained, white T-shirt, and his blue-jean eyes shimmered with mirth. “Hotels, huh?”

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