Page 35 of Windlass

“Ange? You okay?”

“I need buckets,” she said, rolling out of the leak zone and stripping off her wet shirt. Moving informed her she was still wet elsewhere, too, thanks to Stevie.

Her face flamed.Stevie. She fumbled for a dry shirt and came up with something. It went over her arms, but her head—

The light snapped on.

“Sweatpants usually go on the legs, but I admire your commitment,” said Stevie.

Angie’s back was to the door, and in the light, she saw Stevie was correct—these were undeniably pants. Next to them on the edge of the laundry basket, however, was the shirt she’d worn yesterday. She pulled it on. Stevie could live with the nipples she’d gone and hardened, which would definitely be visible through the sheer material. Angie wasn’t looking for a bra in the middle of the goddamn night.

“On my pillow,” she said, waving Stevie and the trash can she’d grabbed from the corner toward her bed. “When did it start raining?”

“About an hour after we went to bed.”

“Is it leaking anywhere else?”

Stevie assessed the bed and bucket, then waved Angie to the other side of the bed. “Let’s move this out of the way. Then the bucket can’t spill.”

Angie pulled while Stevie pushed, sliding the bed to the other wall. She blinked furiously, trying to wake up more fully. She’d had a hard time falling asleep—Stevie’s fault—and had been roused from deep delirium.

“It got mybed,” she said when they finished, staring at her damp pillowcase.

“It sure did. Here, I’ll strip the pillowcase, and we’ll put both in the wash. You don’t want whatever leaked down through the attic near your face.”

Her arms had wrapped around herself as she chewed on her lip while Stevie took charge, but she couldn’t help it. Herbed. One of the few places she felt safe. She didn’t believe that the universe cared one iota about her, but this did feel a little pointed.

“And now we check the attic.” Stevie held the pillow in one hand and held the other out to Angie. “Let’s grab another pot and chuck this in the laundry room.”

Angie followed Stevie, clinging to her hand, her head refusing to clear. The sound of Stevie’s voice was calming, however. She focused with effort.

“. . . that tarp up tomorrow, if the weather isn’t shit.”

“Thank you,” Angie’s lower lip trembled. Just great. An overwhelmed crying jag was coming.

“No problem. Watch your head.”

They entered the attic, where the plink of rain in the pots already doing leak duty played a discordant melody. Stevie set another makeshift bucket below the new leak, moving aside the boxes that had been close enough to get wet. Angie would have to go through those tomorrow, just in case it was something important.

“And we’re good.” Stevie looked around. “Do you hear any more?”

“Not over the others.” Three. Three leaks now, bad enough to work their way through the attic floor. She chewed her lower lip. This was a problem.

“We could also get a big tarp for up here.” Stevie gestured at the space. “That would minimize the damage. And breed mosquitos.”

The last comment had been intended to cheer her up, she knew, but she couldn’t even fake a smile. Stevie glanced at her face, frowned, and guided her toward the stairs.

“You okay?” she asked as they descended.

“Yeah,” Angie lied. “Maybe. It’s just—where am I going to sleep? That was mybed!”

Morgan and Lilian had taken their beds with them when they moved, and she hadn’t replaced them yet.

“Don’t be an idiot.” Stevie tugged her toward her room. “Take my bed.”

A shiver of remembered desire stirred. There were reasons she should say no, but she really had woken up wrong, and—

“It’s not optional. I’m putting you there.”

---