Page 120 of Severed Heart
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Minutes later, I’m stuffing my duffle into my truck, still parked curbside at Delphine’s, feeling Dom’s weighted gaze on me from where he sits on the porch in the lone rusted spring chair. His question sounds from over the rail as I make my way to the porch to see him rolling a joint.
“Going somewhere?” he asks.
“Not yet, but it looks like you’re about to,” I joke as he seals it closed.
“What’s with the duffle?” he asks.
“It’s a story for another time. I don’t really want to get into it.” He stands as I palm the handle of the storm door. “Let’s just say I won’t be heading home for the holidays any year soon—if ever.”
His eyes snap to my profile before I pass through the door, and he trails me into the kitchen. His prodding gaze remains unrelenting as I pour each of us a cup of freshly brewed coffee and hand his over.
“It was a long time coming, Dom,” I finally say after taking a sip. “Sorry to ask already, but I’m going to need my cut from last night to hole up somewhere temporarily until I’m off to march.”
“You can stay here,” he offers without missing a beat.
“Nah,” I say, “thanks, but I’ll figure it out.”
“You’ll have it tonight, but brother, if you—”
“I’m good, man, swear,” I say, ending the Q & A. Feeling his inner struggle just after, in one of his rare efforts to mute himself, I divert. “I got your text, but how did it go?”
“Exactly like you mapped it,” he says, finding a grin, “and it feels fucking good.” He runs a hand down his face. “But fuck, I’m wiped.”
“You haven’t slept yet?” I ask, knowing the answer while trying to convince him I don’t. He expected me here until he came home, so my truck parked at the curb doesn’t require explanation. My alibi sadly aided by the baggage I brought with me and my new predicament.
“I’ve been covering up our tracks for a few hours.”
“And?” I ask.
“We’re golden,” he says, refilling his coffee before thinking better of it. “Fuck, I’m too drained to even attempt this day without sleep.”
“I think I’m going to go for a quick run,” I say, far too restless to stay idle as I ditch my coffee cup and head toward the sliding glass door. Dom follows me out back, sparking up his joint as he scans our surroundings, which are slowly starting to tint and brighten with the sunrise.
“I’m going to smoke this, log on for a few, and then crash,” he relays as I jump the fence. “Wake me up when he gets here.”
No question whoheis as I grin over at him. “You knew he was coming?”
His smirk turns into a full smile. “I know a lot, but I pick and choose when I want to let anyone else in on it.” He gives me a pointed look.
“You got something particular in mind you want to disclose?” I ask, point-blank.
“Not at the moment,you?” he counters.
“Nothing in particular, except that you’re a dick,” I supply, stretching my hamstrings.
“Old news. You should probably rest up, too. I’m thinking that French bastard is going to keep us busy.”
“You’re French too, you know,” I say, starting my run as his reply follows me.
“Prove it,” he calls to my back.
Racing with the sun as it lights the day, I manage to reach my mileage goal despite my exhaustion. I’m cooling down when Dom’s bleeding speakers reach me as I hit the driveway. The volume becoming obnoxiously louder with every step I take toward the house. Once inside, I glance down the hallway to see his door is closed. Though I can’t help but think he’s purposely doing it to torture his only roommate.
Shortly after, said roommate appears looking pissed and doesn’t even glance my way after stalking down the hall. It’s the sight of the pint in the pocket of her robe that has dread seeping into me. Batting all ill feelings away—knowing Dom’s early morning serenade is most likely the reason for her current mood—I trail her into the kitchen as she pours her coffee.
“He’s such a dick. Whether you refuse to spar with him or not, you have the divine right to raise hell to anyone blasting fucking music at seven in the damned morning.”
