Page 61 of The Version You Hide

He scratches his forehead, seemingly contemplating the best way to explain himself. “I was checking the windows to make sure that Roy wasn’t inside.”

“And who exactly is Roy?” I ask.

“The guy you saw me with in the alley.”

I nod once, then taking a step backward, I turn on my heel.

“I’m out of here.”

“Kenz, please,” he pleads, rushing around in front of me, his hands held up in defence. “It isn’t what it looks like. I lease this warehouse and sometimes I let Roy stay here.”

“Why?” I ask, throwing my arms up in the air in frustration.

Nothing he’s saying is making any sense.

“He’s homeless.”

My feet pause in their place as my eyes snap to his. “Okay. You have my attention.”

“He isn’t a bad guy, but he has nowhere to go. I met him at the back of the tavern one day looking for food in the dumpster. I’ve kind of gotten to know him over the past few months and I allowed him to use this space for shelter.”

“Okay,” I say. “Then why the exchange of money in the alley the other day? What was that all about?”

“He offered to help me out with some odd jobs. To pay me back for letting him stay here. I gave him some money to buy some supplies. He brought them here to the warehouse and then delivered the change to me at the back of the tavern.”

Showing generosity towards a homeless person is definitely not a crime. It’s admirable even, but still, something doesn’t sit right with this situation. I have more questions. Questions I really hope he can answer. “But I saw you give him something too.”

“Yeah. The spare key to the warehouse,” he explains. “Plus, I gave the change back to him and told him to buy a meal at the tavern on me.”

“You told him to keep it on the downlow.”

He lifts his arm, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah. I did. Otherwise, I could end up with a whole bunch of people trying to take shelter in this warehouse.”

That makes sense to an extent, I guess. “What kind of supplies did he buy you?”

“Paint.”

“Top grade paint?” I squint at him sceptically.

“Marine grade,” he fires back.

I stare at him in awe, the silence of the night falling over us for a moment before I find the words I want to say next. “You trusted a homeless guy with your own cash, then let him stay in a warehouse that your name is assigned to. He could be anyone. How can you do that?”

His shoulders jump up in a small shrug as he tucks his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “I guess I just choose to see the good in people.”

There’s an ache in my chest hearing those words. Not only have I chosen to jump to the worst possible conclusion about Dylan, but I’m also constantly looking for the worst in everyone. I squeeze my eyes shut, then look away. “And I’m a complete asshole.”

“No, Kenz. You aren’t,” he sighs, reaching forward to comb my hair behind my ear. I flinch as his fingers graze my jawline. His touch is slight, but it sets my skin on fire. “I get why your mind went to a dark place. And you don’t owe me anything. Not your trust. Not anything. Look, I’m not perfect. In fact, I’m far from it, but I swear to you, I would never do anything to hurt you.”

He steps toward me, closing the space between us. My heart beats out of sync when I feel his hand in mine. “I can promise you that.”

A hurricane of thoughts whir through my mind.

I’m hearing him, but all I can see is flashing lights and neon signs of warning. My heart longs to let him in, but my mind looks for reasons to push him away. I’m not ready to open up to him.

Not yet.

I swallow down the lump in my throat, sliding my hand out from his. “Why do you have a warehouse anyway? Why do you need marine grade paint?”

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