Page 32 of Unexpected Temptation

Every day, I have to admit it. I see her decline a little more. Her once agile hands now lie motionless on the bed sheets. Once strong from our walks together, the muscles in her legs now lie still and wasted. It’s the beginning of the end, and I feel powerless against it.

I know deep down that the move to a care facility is inevitable and that it’s what is best for Mom’s comfort and safety. However, accepting it feels like betraying her, like admitting defeat in our battle against this cruel disease.

That’s why I have to focus on the step-by-step. Walk to the bus stop. Catch the bus. Go to work and keep my head down, one step, one breath at a time. Looking at the bigger picture, I feel like everything could crumble.

I stand in the kennel, a heavy hose in my hand, blasting down the wall. When Miles said the kennels needed cleaning, he seemed shocked when I eagerly volunteered, but I need to make myself useful. Now, wearing coveralls, gloves, and a mask, I begin wiping down the floor and the walls with heavy sponges.

As I work, I try to empty my mind. I don’t want to think about Mom, last night, or even Riley. I haven’t even texted her. Heck, she’s probably still asleep. I zone out, cleaning five kennels, when Miles bangs on the wall and says I should take a break.

“Sorry. I called, like, five times.”

“It’s okay.”

He tilts his head. “Are you good?”

“Please don’t touch me,” I say, cringing away when he tries to take me by the shoulders for no reason. He doesn’t need to have his hands on me. Nobody does except—No, just nobody. Miles raises his hands.

“Whoa, my bad.”

“I’m sorry. I just don’t like people touching me.”

“Don’t act like I’m some pervert, though. Jeez.”

Now he’s got me wondering if I’m overreacting. I turn away and start unzipping the overalls. I wear my regular clothes underneath, but I still feel weird as I strip them off. Miles sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry about what?” says a familiar voice.

I turn as the caged beast from last night walks in, wearing a suit and tie. It’s shocking to see Tristan dressed like that, his clothes fitted to his every muscle. His face is freshly shaven, and his hair is cut, shaved on the sides, the top spiky. It gives him a military look—a Marine look.

“Nothing,” Miles says quickly.

“Nothing. Hmm.” Tristan walks over to me. “Maya?”

“Sorry, last night has got me shaken up. That’s all.”

“About what?”

My memory hitches, and it’s like I’m back there last night again, him scaling the cage, covered in my blood. I know what he’s saying; nothing happened last night. That’s what the suit is about, the shave, the aura of him being a new man.

“It’s nothing, really,” Miles says again.

“Miles.” Tristan turns to him, not aggressively, but with an air about him that gets my heart pumping. Maybe it calls to that cliched part of me that wants a man, perhaps evenmyman, to protect me. Keep me safe. “Let her talk.”

Miles looks terrified for a second, though, on the surface, Tristan is calm. Maybe it’s the size difference. Tristan towers over everybody.

“I just told Miles I’m not a touchy person. He said he was cool with it. It’s okay, Mr. Greene.”

Ican play the keep-it-official game, too, if that’s what he wants to do.

Tristan scowls at Miles. “Keep your hands to yourself.”

A shimmer moves through me when his tone gets all fierce. I try not to let my mind go there. Maybe it’s those drugs wearing off. The medic was the one person there who seemed qualified, and she said it was most likely Scopolamine, also known as the Devil’s Breath. He could’ve just spilled powder on my arm or neck or stung me with a needle without me even knowing.

“Maya, my office.”

Tristan turns, leaving me no choice but to follow. Not that there’s anywhere else I’d rather go.

I follow him up the stairs, looking at his broad back, the suit jacket stretching tight. I’m tempted to make a joke or a lighthearted comment about it, but he seems different from last night. Maybe the Devil’s Breath made me see things that weren’t there: little looks, smirks, and private moments I thought we were sharing. Perhaps he wished he’d asked somebody else to give me a ride home last night.

---