Page 33 of Becoming Us
Sure, it wasn’t permanent—just one of the spare bedrooms while he figured out his next move.
But still.
Ezra Tatewas moving into my apartment today.
I had no idea how the hell this was going to work out, but I sucked it up and walked to the elevator, ready to greet my new roomie.
The bell dinged, and there they were—Ezra, Colin, and Atty—accompanied by three bags and half a dozen boxes.
Fuck. This was actually happening.
I rushed over to help as they started unloading, guiding them toward Ezra’s room.
“So, this is it. Bathroom’s down the hall—it’s already set up,” I told him.
He nodded slowly, giving the room the most annoyingly wary look imaginable. I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myselffrom reacting. Fine, I wasn’t thrilled either, but he didn’t need to make it so damn obvious.
“Thanks,” Ezra grumbled.
Atty gently set a box down by the bed, glancing around. I didn’t think he’d ever been in here before. We’d always holed up in my room or crashed on the couch.
His eyes scanned the space before settling on me. “It’s nice.”
“Yeah, I asked Jaz to get it ready.” I regretted the words as soon as they left my mouth.
Ezra’s eyes narrowed. “Who?”
Screw it. I was bound to get some attitude—might as well get it over with. “Jaz helps me with the house. Cooking, cleaning, that kind of stuff.”
He let out a hum that grated on my nerves.
“I don’t expect her to do everything. I help out when I can—so do the same. Just because she cleans doesn’t mean you get to be a slob.” I hadn’t meant to sound so sharp, but this subject always set me off.
He raised a brow but only shrugged.
“He’s not a slob,” Colin chimed in, setting down a box. “For what it’s worth.” His hand landed on my shoulder and gave a quick squeeze—maybe a warning, maybe reassurance. I couldn’t tell.
“While we’re on the subject, I’ve also got a personal trainer. He comes twice a week. The room next door’s a gym,” I added, ripping the bandage off.
Atty’s lips parted, his head tilting in that way that always made butterflies take off in my stomach. “Seriously?”
I nodded and waved them over. The space wasn’t huge—just a treadmill and some weights—but it did the job.
Atty moved around, inspecting everything, while Ezra and Colin drifted away. “You didn’t have this before,” he said.
I leaned against the doorframe. “No. It used to be an office.”
He stopped in front of the treadmill, eyes locked on the heart monitor beside it. The longer he stared, the more unsettled I became. He was thinking about it—the overdose. I knew he was. His shoulders stiffened, and his lips moved like he was swallowing something down. Then he rubbed a hand over his mouth and crossed his arms.
Atty had these little tells when he got upset—tapping his foot, rolling his shoulders, rubbing his lips. Subtle at first, but the more anxious he got, the more intense they became.
I wanted to ask what he was thinking, but I stayed quiet and waited.
He uncrossed his arms and shifted his weight. Right foot, left, right again. “Do you still need regular checkups?”
“Steve likes to do them. That’s my trainer.”
Another shift.
