Page 13 of The Caretaker
“Your camera,” he said, dashing for the coffee table. I never forgot my camera. Never.
“Thanks,” I said again, accepting it from him. The pain in my skull escalated when I stepped outside, the intensity increasing the closer I got to my truck. By the time I opened the driver side door, the hyperventilation had reached level ten.What the fuck is wrong with me?
Snow crunched on the ground behind me, and Solace’s voice cut through the panic racking my body. “Hey,” he said, turning me to face him with a hand on my shoulder. “Are you okay?”
I peered at the house, then the snow-covered drive that would lead me away from it, then back to the house again. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself to calm the fuck down. Solace waited patiently, giving me room as I stripped out of my coat, flinging it into the truck, then bracing my hands on my knees.
“Breathe,” he whispered from beside me, rubbing soothing circles on my back. He leaned forward until his face was only inches from mine, until his warm breath hit my cheek. “Breathe.”
I listened, focusing on the timbre of his voice, twisting my head toward his doe eyes. There was no judgment there, no fear, only a desire to help. It took a while, but I got myself in order and straightened. “I’m okay now,” I promised, and Solace surveyed me for signs of the opposite. “You must think I’m crazy.” I began pacing a tight circle with my hands on my hips.
“I would never think that,” he said, his cheeks and nose red from the cold. “Never.”
My gaze went back to the long drive, and I started up the breathing exercises again. “I-I just…want…this to end,” I gasped between deep inhales and exhales. Solace worried his lip between his teeth, and the need to apologize overwhelmed me. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have dragged you into this.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you apologize a lot?”
I huffed a laugh. “Feels like I’ve been on an apology tour for the better part of the year.”
“You don’t need to be sorry, Noon. Not with me.” We locked gazes for two, three, maybe a dozen heartbeats, and by the time he slid his warm palm into my cold and clammy one, the headache was gone.
“Stay,” he whispered.
Stay.
Stay.
Stay.
The word tugged and tugged, drugging me, and I nodded in a daze. Solace closed my truck door and led me inside by the hand, unlacing my boots before helping me out of them, then leading me to the stairs.
“Do you mind if I sleep down here?” I asked, pulling him to a stop. Solace looked to the couch, then back at me.
“Not at all. I’ll get you a blanket and something to sleep in.” He returned with a t-shirt and sweats that surprisingly happened to fit me. Maybe they belonged to his brother, or to the-one-who-got-away. The man he’d said made him feel like he could do anything, be anything. I wanted to ask him about it, but I’d had enough strange reactions for one day.
I sighed as I got comfortable and stared into the fire, wondering how I could possibly be so tired after the long nap I’d had in this very spot.
“You don’t have to stay down here with me,” I said as he curled up in the armchair with a book. He’d changed clothes too, his joggers gripping his toned legs, his t-shirt not quite hitting his slim waist.
“I don’t mind.” Worry lines creased his forehead. “I’ll head up once you’re asleep.”
I didn’t want to be alone, so I didn’t argue. That night, I didn’t dream about car crashes. I didn’t dream about my wife either. For the first time, under the protection of Solace and his watchful eyes, I dreamt of nothing at all. For the first time, I felt at peace.
Solace
Then
IT’D BEEN ALMOSTa week since the charity ball, and I hadn’t heard a word from Patrick. Granted, he was in a third-world country doing important work—withher—but he hadn’t even made an effort to contact me. Hadn’t stayed behind to deal with this, to deal with us.
I couldn’t sleep, because the pain went beyond something I could sleep through, beyond something I could even breathe through. It had surpassed excruciating.
All that was left to do now was die from a broken heart, if that were possible. At least I’d get to be with Gavin again. Did I even deserve a place in heaven for what I’d let happen to him?
My skull ached, like someone had taken a hammer to it. Side effects from my hangover, or so I’d thought. Took me a moment to realize that the pounding filling my head wasn’t from my migraine. Someone was beating down my front door.
I rolled over, ignoring the headache and the summoning to the door. The ringing of the doorbell came next.
Other than moving when absolutely necessary, I’d remained in the fetal position in the center of our bed, a bottle of vodka pressed to my mouth or crushed against my chest at all times. Now, my bones protested at having to do more than accommodate the small movements needed to do those things.
