Page 54 of Dear Roomie
He must sense the shift. “Good. Are you ready to go again?” He claps me on the shoulder and stands back up, reaching for the pads.
The aching in my shoulders says no, but I shake out the tension and grab my discarded gloves off the floor anyway. This time, when I throw the combo, the movement is effortless. Nathan’s pad breezes over my head, just a hair’s width away from where my face was less than a second ago.
“There he is.” A toothy smile fills his face as I finish the drill, and the ghost of my smile grows to mirror his. “Again?” he asks, and I nod.
We fall into an easy flow after that, running through our normal drills before sparring for a few rounds. My muscles are weak as I make my way back to the apartment, but my resolve is stronger than ever. I’m going to be whatever it is James needs, even if it tears me apart inside.
Chapter 20
James
The aroma of bleach permeates the bathroom, stinging my eyes while I scrub down the grout in the shower. I welcome the burn, though; it means the chemicals are working. The world around me is silenced by the chaotic music blaring through my headphones, leaving me to get lost in my own little bubble. I wipe the tile in time to the aggressive beats, and my hips sway to match.
I’m dancing more than I’m cleaning as the song builds to the breakdown, my quest for cleanliness all but forgotten. The beat drops, and I twirl but freeze when I find Morgan watching me from the doorway.
“What the fuck, Morgan. You scared the shit out of me,” I snap, jerking my headphones out of my ears.
He doesn’t flinch at my tone—hell, the only indication that he’s heard me is that his eyes lose a bit of their glassy sheen. I guess maybe he wasn’t watchingmeafter all.
He looks awful.
There’s no trace of the perfectly put-together Morgan Hall in the man standing in front of me. It’s the middle of the afternoon, but he looks like he just rolled out of bed the morning after going on a bender. His hair is a wild rat’s nest of uncontrolled curls, and the bags under his eyes have bags.
More unsettling than the fatigue on his face is his choice of clothing. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him dressed down—even his pajamas are always a perfectly coordinated set. This impostor in front of me, though, is wearing ratty sweatsthat are too short, ending in the middle of his calves, and a white T-shirt with a large stain across the front.
He has been…offsince everything that went down at the beach. We’ve still hung out and had a couple of pizza nights over the past few weeks, but he hasn’t been himself. He’s been more withdrawn, barely giving me a reaction when I talk shit to poke his buttons, and he never asks me questions anymore. It’s like he’s there physically, but his mind is somewhere else. Even then, his behavior has been nothing likethis.
Something is very wrong.
“Jesus, are you okay?” I climb out of the tub and reach out, needing to hug him.
“I’m fine,” he says, rearing back to sidestep my touch. His voice is empty of emotion, and his eyes reflect the same hollowness. “I’m sorry I scared you, but I knocked. I just need to use the restroom, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”
“Seriously, you look like shit.” I move to fully block his path. He has made me talk through my issues more times than I’d like to admit, so there is no way I’m going to let him get away with keeping his own bottled up now that the situation is reversed. “What’s wrong?”
He stiffens and narrows his eyes at my blatant disregard. It’s the first time I’ve seen a glimpse of the man I know buried beneath this hollow shell since he walked in here.
“It’s nothing. I’m fine,” he grits out between clenched teeth. “I just really need to pee.”
“Don’t lie to me.” My hand falls to my hip, and I meet his hardened stare with one of my own. If he thinks he can lie to me, he’s got another thing coming. “Tell me what’s wrong with you, and the bathroom is all yours, or we can both just stand here. Choice is yours.”
“James, I’m not in the mood to play games,” he snaps, then looks to the ceiling and takes a deep breath in. “Please just let me use the restroom.”
“You have about thirty seconds before I turn the water on. So make this easy on both of us and tell me.”
It’s childish, I know, but it’s the only thing I can think of to convince him to tell me what the fuck is going on.
“James…” he says with a frustrated growl, his whole body growing stiff with his rising frustration.
“Time’s up.” I whip my hand toward the sink handle to make good on my threat. He catches my wrist before I can turn the knob. Despite the rigid tension in his fingers, his grip is soft against my skin, almost tender.
“Fine, you win.” He lets out an exasperated sigh. “It’s my birthday. Are you satisfied? Now will youpleaselet me pee in peace?”
“It’s your birthday?” I stare at him, absolutely dumbfounded. How could he not tell me that? Why is it such a bad thing?
A steely glare is the only response he gives me.
“Okay, okay, I’m leaving,” I concede, maneuvering around him toward his bedroom door. “But we aren’t done with this conversation.”
