Page 14 of The Caretaker
Empty liquor bottles crashed to the floor as I inched my way off the bed, feeling along the wall until I reached, then opened, the bedroom door. “Damn it,” I muttered, shielding my eyes when sunlight hit me from all angles. The blackout curtains were drawn closed in the bedroom, screwing up my sense of time and now causing a momentary impairment of my vision.
The pounding and the ringing grew in intensity as my eyes adjusted, and at any second I expected a fist to break through the wooden door.
With every step, the current state of my life came back to me, and my weakened body gave out before I reached the landing. I fell to my knees, palms catching me before my face hit the floor.
Gavin.
I dry heaved.
Patrick.
I heaved again, almost sinking back into my vortex of grief if it weren’t for the urgency of the knocking on the door, the sound tethering me to the present.
Affair.
I gripped the banister, focusing on the chiming of the doorbell, dragging myself to my feet before swaying and stumbling back into the wall.
Alone.
“C-coming,” I panted, my shallow breaths disturbing the strands of hair dangling across my face. By the time I got to the door, I needed a minute to refuel, to build up the strength required to unlock it. My limbs were jittery, the acid in my stomach burning its way up my throat, so I pressed my forehead against the cool surface, taking the time I needed.
The banging resumed, forcing my head back. I was in rough shape, and I didn’t stop to think about who awaited me on the other side of the door. I needed them to stop, to go away so I could get back to my misery.
I swung the door open in time to see a tall, broad figure marching toward a pickup truck. He spun my way, unholy anger lighting up his green eyes as recognition hit him. Those beautiful gem-like eyes that had been full of compassion at the charity ball, now narrowed on me.
He strode my way, fists balled. “You,” he sneered, as if he thought I was the other half in his wife’s affair. I slumped against the doorframe, welcoming those enormous fists to put an end to me.
He grabbed me up by the collar of my robe, hauling his arm back with a snarl. My eyes connected with his then, because I wanted to see it all. His rage, his agony, his payback for what happened to him. I wanted to see my pain in someone else, wanted to see my anger and jealousy and fear reflected back at me. I wanted to not feel so damn alone.
His labored breathing faltered as he peered deeper into my eyes. Winter air pumped past his full, parted lips in puffs of smoke before being snatched away by the wind. “You,” he said breathlessly, his sneer slipping away, the coldness in his eyes thawing.
The behemoth of a man observed me further, fist still raised, but I didn’t think he was even aware of it at that point. I hung in his grasp, wordlessly begging him for violence, for anything to make it all end.
His arm slowly lowered to his side as he mimicked my drooping posture. That’s when I noticed the scruff riding his jaw, the suit jacket he wore inside out, the scent of liquor coming through his pores. The scent wasn’t fresh, more like his body was still ridding itself of the harm he’d done to it over the course of a week. He took in the wedding band I hadn’t managed to take off, and I took in his.
“You,” he whispered, seeming to realize that I wasn’t the other half to his wife’s affair but another victim of it.
“You,” I parroted back, voice hitching as I acknowledged him in the same way, acknowledged his pain. A flood of moisture rushed to my eyes, and I didn’t know if I moved first, if I hugged him or if he hugged me, but I clung to him. Clung to this stranger, who, through our current shared experience, I had so much in common with. We’d be forever connected now, and I didn’t even know his name.
Unfortunately for me, sleep didn’t cure headaches. I blinked awake, my cheek resting on something warm and solid, my hair veiling my face. Groaning and pushing myself upright, I noted the rock-hard expanse of a muscular chest under my hands. My gaze widened, shooting to the inquisitive eyes of the man beneath me, the man whose steady heartbeat fluttered against my flattened palm.
One of his strong hands grabbed me, saving me from falling onto the floor, while the other brushed my hair back. I disentangled myself from him, moving to the other side of the couch.
“H-how…” I massaged my forehead, trying to sort through the last thing I remembered. It came back to me in a dizzying rush, and the man—Noon, maybe?—watched me with concern.
My face heated as I recalled holding on to him like a dog with a bone, and not letting go even as he’d led us inside. A dam had broken, the slight numbness of the last few days wearing off due to our instant kinship—whether we wanted it or not. I’d been delirious with sadness and grief.
“What time is it?” I rasped, turning toward the window. It was dark out, and the snowstorm the weatherman predicted had arrived on my doorstep.
“It’s officially tomorrow,” he said, holding up his phone.
“What?” I squinted at the screen. It was midnight. “What time did you get here?” I couldn’t say when I’d last checked the time. Each day blurred into the next. My lack of sleep and binge drinking hadn’t helped.
“Ah, very early yesterday,” he said, thinking hard. He seemed off-kilter too, and rightfully so.
“And I kept you trapped under me the whole time?” I asked, more than a little appalled.
“Not thewholetime. I took a few bathroom breaks, sat on this end for a little while to get the blood flowing in my limbs again, but you found me in your sleep.”
