Page 12 of Gooey

Chapter 5

Winter

Waking up hours later, my stomach is still warm and content from finishing every drop of my soup. Moore couldn’t be convinced to nap with me, claiming that he had responsibilities to attend to. But thankfully, like he promised he would be, he’s in his room when my eyes open.

Sitting in the old arm chair a few feet away, I find him watching me. He looks almost menacing in a hot villain sort of way. It makes me want to crawl out of bed and right into his wide lap. I notice my box of things at his feet, too, but ignore it entirely. As much as I love my crafts, I’m finding Moore to be much more alluring at the moment.

When he notices that I’m alert, he doesn’t look away to pretend that he hasn’t been observing me. He must know that I like it.

Instead, he asks, “How are you feeling?”

The timber of his voice makes me feel gooey inside. “Better,” I admit softly, sitting up in bed and tucking my legs while a yawn leaves me. “Less sore, I think.”

“Good,” he says with a breath of relief.

When he doesn’t move, to come closer, I slowly get out of bed and stand, reaching my arms to the sky. “I’m just going to stretch for a minute,” I say, watching his eyes fall to where my sweater is riding up. His gaze sears into the bare skin of my stomach and butterflies tumble around in my belly. “If that’s okay?”

He can only manage a grunt of confirmation.

I use one hand to grab the opposite shoulder, gently stretching my slightly achy arms before switching sides. Rubbing the back of my neck, I groan, rolling my head from side to side.

“This room is so big,” I comment, looking around as I circle my ankles and wiggle my toes. “You could totally do yoga in here.”

“Do you like yoga?” he asks, remaining in his seat.

“Love it,” I declare happily. “Haven’t been doing much of it lately on account of living in a closet for two years, but I’m hopeful I can get back to it now.”

The room grows lethally quiet. I feel the air shift around us, tension rising.

In a haunted, hushed tone, he asks, “Two years?”

Cheeks pink, I look at his thunderous expression. He’s furious but not at me. For me.

My arms wrap around my stomach as I attempt not to fully cave in on myself. Weakly and without a word, I nod.

“How the fuck did we miss this?”

I frown. “It’s not your fault?—”

“This is my fucking rig, it is damn-well my fault,” he snaps, not quite yelling. He’s trying so hard to quell his anger, I can feel it.

“Your rig?” I gape. “You own this place?”

“How… how could you have been here, right under my nose for two years?”

Now he just looks sad. Defeated even.

“Hey,” I clip, using my stern voice. “Don’t blame yourself for something you could have never prevented. My dad did this. He did this. You didn’t do this to me, Moore. You’ve only ever helped me. And if you could somehow see through fucking walls, you would have saved me sooner. But you’re not a superhero, handsome. You’re my hero, but you’re still a man.”

“Winter… I?—”

“I don’t blame you, but I’ll be very upset with you if you blame yourself.”

He blinks and then mumbles, “I’m not trying to blame myself, not really. I just don’t understand how this could happen, sugar.”

“I don’t understand it either,” I say with a shrug. “I think evil things can’t always be explained… but they can usually be healed. I already feel healed, if I’m being honest. That probably sounds ridiculous and maybe it’s crazy, but I’ve lost enough time. I just want to move on from it.”

“You are,” he pauses, swallowing hard, “unbelievably strong, Winter.”

---