Page 77 of The Heart We Guard
“Of course. Under the name Greer Hansen?”
I nod. “Thank you. There should be three big cases, one small case, and a work bag.”
They leave the room first, and Butcher cups my cheeks gently. “You ready to go home?”
I struggle to bite back a yawn, before letting my forehead rest on his chest. “I am. I’m tired, Butcher.”
“Then, let’s get you home.”
The wordhomeripples through me, but I’m too exhausted to unpack why that is.
I hold on tight to Butcher on the ride. It’s a much slower pace.
Safer.
I huddle down behind him and close my eyes. The breeze blows over me as he pulls onto the dirt track behind the clubhouse that, within ten minutes, leads us to his home. The building is a mix of log and stone and roofs that slope at different angles. Thick bushes surround the brick porch, and there’s a large arched stone entry way.
“It’s beautiful,” I say when Butcher finally kills the engine. He has a home built for a family.
“Glad you like it. Been thinking on the ride over that the inside is pretty dated, but we can fix that.”
When Butcher lets me in, the house smells subtly of cleaning products. Slightly antiseptic, very pine or cedar. It’s spotlessly clean and has the bones to be beautiful. But the highlight is large windows at the rear of the house that seem to have a view that goes on for miles.
“Let me show you where everything is,” Butcher says. “Formal living room through there, which I barely use.” The room has limited furniture. A couple of leather armchairs face a fireplace. “Butthisis my favorite spot.”
We step into a large open-plan kitchen and dining area connected to a cozy family room. There’s a large TV mounted to a stone fireplace. The beige sectional sofa looks so inviting, I want to fall face down onto it and sleep for days. And the kitchen is a light wood, with a large island topped with a large white counter.
But the view is breathtaking.
“I can see why you love it,” I say.
“It’s different…to your place. Not so minimal.” He glances at the stack of papers on the dining table, the magazines shoved into the side tables.
I yawn again and shake my head. “It’s got good bones, Butcher.”
He leads me to the sofa, then gently nudges me down. “You’re gonna nap. And then, we’re gonna eat. And I’ll show you the rest of the house later.”
“A fine idea,” I say, curling up as I rest my head on a pillow.
He tugs a fleecy throw from the back of the sofa and tosses it over me, then crouches so we’re eye to eye. His hands are gentle when he pushes the hair back from my face. “I’m winging this, Doc. Don’t know what I’m doing. But until we know each other better, if I’m fucking this up, you have to tell me.”
My eyes drift closed. “You’re doing fine, Butcher.” The words are mumbled as his lips brush my forehead.
“I need to do a whole lot better than fine.”
They’re the last words I hear before I fall asleep.
So, when he shakes me later, I can’t say whether I slept an hour or a day. All I know is that it feels like I’m dragging myself up from the bottom of the ocean floor. It’s impossible to open my eyes.
“Greer, hey. I brought you some dinner.”
His voice, missing from my life for so many weeks, rumbles through me. An invisible rope that pulls me to the surface.
I take a breath, then another.
“How long did I sleep?”
Butcher crouches next to me. “Two hours. It’s nearly six.”
