Page 74 of Muzzled

Smiling, she pushed herself up onto her elbows. “Is your heart rate finally back to normal?”

“Nope,” he replied with a grin, placing his wallet and keys on the dresser. “Cement blocks and skulls aren’t a good mix.”

He’d kept one hand on her at all times while she climbed the pieces, muttering warnings about how high she was going and glaring every time she forced him to back far enough away to take a picture.

It had amused her to no end and had more than made up for her aching feet and sore arms.

She watched him go about his routine, nudging his shoes against the wall, laying out his jeans for the morning, a fresh pair of socks and boxers tucked on top of a clean black tee. The coffee was prepped, the paper cups freed from their plastic wrappings and set beside the coffee maker, one sugar packet and a spoon placed beside hers. The chairs were tucked under the table, the curtains pinched together. He slid his cell from his pocket and fired off a few texts before he set it on the bedside table and plugged it in. As he sat on the other bed and pulled his socks off, she disappeared into the bathroom with an old shirt and a pair of shorts, changing quickly and grabbing her makeup remover.

It was so normal. So predictably, reliably normal.

“Want a bottle of water?” he called into the bathroom while she swiped the eyeliner from her lids.

“Sure, thanks.”

The slight wavering in her voice brought him to the door immediately, a soft knock announcing his presence. “Everything okay?”

She opened the door for him and continued to work on removing the stubborn mascara from her lashes. “Just going through the routine,” she smiled. “The normal routine, right?”

“I was just thinking the same thing,” he replied, scooping up her laundry and putting it into the small hamper bag in the closet. “It’s weird how fast this became my new normal.”

“It’s weird how fast it’s going to stop.” She tossed the blackened tissue into the garbage and turned to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. “I can’t decide if I want to stay up all night or curl up in bed and go to sleep.”

He stroked her hair, his chin on her head. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

*

Ryan inched hishand up the wall and nudged the thermostat. He listened for the air-conditioning to turn on as he pushed the blanket off of his legs and secured it around Micah.

Her eyes were still red from the night before when she’d finally broken down, her whole body heaving as she sobbed into his shirt in the bathroom. It had taken every ounce of energy he had not to join her, not to fall apart when her nails had dug into his skin as though it would keep destiny at bay just a little longer.

She sniffed and rolled over, sending her hair across his face.

As long as one of us keeps our head above water, we’re good.

Her words shot through his mind as he arched his neck and gently moved her hair away from his mouth.

She was the only thing keeping his cursed line at bay, the Queen of Detachment keeping her head even if her crown was slipping. And as much as he knew it was going to hurt to leave her, it was safer than staying.

Because he hadn’t kept his head above water. Not when her sobs slowed, her viselike grip on him loosening. Not when she kissed him, her cheeks streaked with tears. Not when she undressed for him and silently led him by the hand to the bed. Not when he made love to her for hours before wrapping his arms around her as she slept. Instead, he’d only fallen more in love with her with every breath, hoping against hope that Fate wouldn’t find out.

No, he definitely hadn’t kept his head above water.

He’d drowned in her instead.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Micah’s head whippedto the door, her heart seizing as Ryan got to his feet and walked slowly across the floor to open it up to his brothers.

“We all set?” Alex asked, looking at her with a tight smile. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” she parroted, her voice hollow in her ears. “I think so.”

Ryan picked up her shoes and passed them to her, along with the motel key. “Remember that it’s paid up for the month, so don’t let the front desk tell you otherwise,” he warned, adding to the litany of information he’d been spewing all morning with an almost robotic attention to the minutest details. “And laundry pickup is Tu—”

“Tuesday,” she finished for him, tugging her sneakers on. “I’ll remember.”

With a quick nod, he stalked around the room again, opening and closing his laptop twice and checking that he’d given her his bank account information.

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