Page 67 of Night Shift

“Ooh, that sounds amazing,” Kristen agreed. “But I don’t have a swimsuit.”

“Me neither,” chimed Bethany and Marissa together.

“Who needs swimsuits?” I said, grinning. “Let’s just go in au naturel!”

I ran to my bathroom and returned with a stack of towels. With giggles and excited whispers, we stripped down and dashed outside to the hot tub, making quick work of removing the cover. We sank into the warm water with sighs of contentment.

The hot steam surrounded us while the jets massaged away the remnants of stress and fear that had clung to me since the attack and the break-in. Marissa and Kristen quickly became lost in their own world, sharing kisses and gentle touches, their affection for each other clear and unapologetic.

Bethany and I exchanged amused looks. “Find a room, you two,” I joked, splashing water at them. They splashed me back and sank deeper in the water.

We sat there serenely, the stars overhead the only witnesses to our naughty girls’ dip, and our conversation meandered from the trivial to the profound. It was a rare bubble of peace, a much-needed respite from what had become my daily existence. In the sanctuary of the hot tub, I couldn’t help but feel grateful for the love and support of my friends. They had my back through thick and thin.

Bam! The door to the back porch crashed open and shattered our bubble of tranquility. I turned, my heart skipping a beat. Atticus’s silhouette loomed in the doorway, his body tense with fury.

The air seemed to freeze around us. I’d pushed him over the edge.

“Get out!” he roared at the top of his lungs, a command that brooked no argument.

Bethany, Marissa, and Kristen scrambled out of the hot tub, water dripping from their bodies. They grabbed towels and swiftly wrapped themselves, whispering hasty apologies and promising to call me tomorrow. They fled into the house, shouting to me that they’d get an Uber.

I remained in the hot tub, meeting Atticus’s furious gaze with a defiance I hadn’t known I possessed. My heart pounded—not just from the shock of his sudden appearance, but also from the realization that I was about to confront him head-on.

The silence that followed was charged. This was a standoff between his outrage and my refusal to cower. I could see him more clearly now, my eyes having adjusted. His chest heaved with each breath, and his posture was rigid with anger.

“Why?” His voice was lower now but no less intense.

“Why not?” I countered, calmly unapologetic despite the adrenaline coursing through me. “You were gone, the rules were suffocating, and I…we needed some normalcy.”

Atticus tensed, and for a moment, I wondered if I had pushed him too far. But there was something in his posture, a flicker of something behind the anger, that made me hold my ground.

The standoff continued, a silent battle of wills under the starlit sky. In that moment, everything that had transpired between us—all the tension, the unspoken grievances—seemed to crystalize. This was more than just a breach of his precious rules; it was a clash of our very natures, a collision course that had been set in motion from the moment our lives had become entangled.

Atticus broke the silence. “Sam, get out and come inside. Now.” His voice rumbled with irritation, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to back down.

After considering his demand for a moment, I complied, albeit with a deliberate slowness that I knew would challenge his patience further. As I rose from the water, it cascaded down my skin. I stood there for a moment, making a silent statement of defiance, and let him get a good look at me, allowing the tension to stretch between us.

Finally I stepped out of the hot tub and walked directly into the living room without grabbing a towel, leaving a trail of water behind me. Atticus, driven by rage at what he perceived as my blatant disrespect, followed, towel in hand.

He caught up to me just as I got to the stairway. “Damn it, Sam!” he growled. Yanking me around by the arm, he threw the towel at me. “You’re not going anywhere until this mess is cleaned up.”

Holding the towel in one hand, I found myself being pulled into the kitchen. Atticus’s grip was firm and unyielding. The surreal nature of the situation was not lost on me. Moments ago, I’d been enjoying the freedom of the night, and now, I was ensnared by a man enraged.

In the kitchen, the party’s aftermath awaited—spilled drinks, scattered food, and the other tangible evidence of the night’s festivities. It all lay there mocking the usual order of Atticus’s house.

The tension between us escalated. Atticus’s reaction to my deliberate provocation—my lack of attire, the water dripping from my body onto the floor—was swift. In a moment of unchecked impulse, he shoved me against the island. His lips crushed against mine with a desperate hunger as his hips pinned me against the cabinet in a moment of raw, unfiltered lust.

Abruptly, he pulled away, a storm of confusion and frustration playing across his features. He took several deep breaths, trying to regain control.

In a dark voice laced with a hint of something more carnal, Atticus stepped back. “You’ve got two hours, and then we’re gonna have that talk. This place had better shine, and you’d better be dressed.”

His face was flushed with anger, and there was a visible twitch in his eye that betrayed the effort it took for him to contain his emotions. It made me feel powerful to know I had that effect on him.

“Fine,” I spat out, glaring at him.

“Two hours to clean this place up,” he repeated, his face red with rage. His eye twitched again. “Then we’re going to have that talk.”

From out of nowhere, an unexpected distraction came in the form of a small, black-and-white furball that bounded up to me with uncontained energy. The little shih tzu, with its tail wagging furiously, jumped up, placing its paws on my knee, breaking the tense atmosphere for a brief moment.

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