Page 63 of Hounded: Ashes to Ashes

Back at the trailer, Loren took off his shoes, hung up his sweater, and went to our bedroom without a word. I trailedbehind, wide the fuck awake and parched but unwilling to stop for one more thing. I entered the bedroom to find he’d decided to sleep in his jeans and button-down. More like pretend to sleep. I doubted either of us would be getting much rest tonight.

He lay on his side, facing the wall, and I should have respected the distance. Obeyed the signs telling me to stop, stay away, and keep my mouth shut.

I slipped under the covers and inched close to him, suddenly so choked up that all I could do was press my hand to his shoulder and squeak, “Lore?”

My touch repelled him. He moved off the bed and stood so swiftly I wondered how far he would go.

He’d slept in his truck for two months, but that was gone now, and he seemed to realize it as he stalled in the middle aisle of the trailer. I sat up and watched him turn a slow circle, seeming lost until he dropped onto the couch with a sigh. He cupped his face in his hands and covered his eyes like there was something he couldn’t bear to see.

I was right there with him, flopping back on the mattress and folding the pillow over my face. It blocked out the light of the bedside lamp and deafened me to the sounds I was too afraid would follow.

Loren wasn’t a crier, and I should have been. Everything was backward, upside down, and racing like a roller coaster. I wanted to get off. I didn’t want to ride anymore, but the cart was climbing, I was buckled in, and I’d given the controls to a little green pill.

Too late to turn back now.

Indy

The next morningstarted the silent treatment all over again, and I couldn’t fucking stand it. I barely made it through breakfast before tromping into the kitchen and digging every boxed and packaged snack out of the cabinets and declaring—everything was a declaration since there was no conversation—that I was taking it all to Sully’s.

Loren bounced his brows in a sort of acknowledgment that made me want to wing a Ding Dong at his head. Then I felt guilty.

I’d spent the whole night wallowing in self-hate. Eaten up with it. Miserable. Didn’t even get to enjoy my high or do much of anything besides sprawl on the bed with my arms and legs akimbo and stare at the ceiling. There was a stained spot I hadn’t noticed before. It had been painted over, but a hint of gray showed faintly through.

I’d wanted to spin. To dance. To smile and reminisce. The present was too… present. Even more so when Loren was mad at me.

I showered and dressed, then put on eyeliner with glitter shadow and a touch of blush. For clothes, I donned a shimmerysequined top and leather pants with a pair of boots. The shirt’s lace-up sides exposed my ribs and the hip bones Loren loved to grab onto. He may have been determined to ignore me, but I wouldn’t make it easy.

There was no chance of him letting me trek across town alone so, by the time I emerged from the bathroom, he was ready, too. He also had my keys, which told me that not only was I in time out, but the training wheels were back on, too.

He did this after every relapse. Locked down my phone, confiscated my keys, damn near documented my every move. It wasn’t meant to be punishment, but it felt like it.

The drive to Sully’s dragged. I hugged the bags of snack cakes in my lap and bounced my knee to the Queen song on the radio. Loren manned the wheel, not talking, not even blinking. Not once.

When we arrived at the gallery, I waited until Loren was out of the car before opening the glovebox and fishing out the baggie of pills I’d stashed there last night. I stuffed them in my pocket, then gathered my bags and headed across the lot after him.

I was mad, but I wasn’t sure I had any right to be. It was an easy thing to feel. Uncomplicated, and that was how I knew it was wrong. Nothing about my life was uncomplicated.

Loren could have let us into Sully’s apartment, but he didn’t. He hung back, several steps away, and stared at his shoes while I knocked.

Despite us arriving during working hours, I expected Sully to answer the door, so it surprised me when the blond-haired Brit opened it instead.

Whitney skimmed over me with an air of scrutiny. “Didn’t expect you again so soon,” he mused, then glanced past me at Loren to add, “Or you at all.”

I raised my armload of bags and smiled. “I promised snacks.”

With a sniff, Whitney allowed us entry into the apartment. Besides the bathroom and Sully’s bedroom, the flat only had one open space. Kitchen, dining, and living areas melded into a single room that felt immediately crowded with all five of us in it. Sully was notably absent, but Dottie was posted up under a floor lamp with a book in her hand while Gunnar leaned head and shoulders out the open window so he could scent the city air.

They both stirred to our arrival and, much like last time, their attention went straight to Loren. I glanced at him, as well, worrying we were in for another bid for canine dominance. But he didn’t react, just stuck to the wall with his head low and eyes averted. Submissive. Defeated.

Gunnar maneuvered his bulky torso out of the window frame and wandered over. His gaze dropped to my grocery bags, and he flashed a grin. “Swiss Rolls?” he asked.

Dude might as well have wagged his tail, which answered a question I didn’t know I had. Not all hellhounds were reticent, occasionally crabby bastards. This one was a damn golden retriever, and I had a treat for him.

I waved him toward the kitchen island where I upended the bags onto the countertop. Boxes scattered, bringing Gunnar in a rush with Dottie and Whitney tagging tentatively behind.

Gunnar snatched the box of Swiss Rolls and tore into it, shredding the plastic wrapping like his fingers were claws. He stuffed the first cake into his mouth with barely a pause.

“Has Sully not been feeding you guys?” I laughed.

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