Page 31 of Moonlit Nights & Northern Lights
I headed down the hall to my bedroom. Though as I approached, I found the bathroom door wide open, light spilling into the hallway. And there stood Rory, merrily brushing his teeth.
With my toothbrush.
“Hey!” I barked, stopping dead in my tracks. “That’s mine!”
Rory shrugged, foam gathering at the corners of his mouth. “There was only one,” he mumbled around the toothbrush.
“I…” Words failed me. The audacity of this man was truly breathtaking.
He turned away from me to spit into the basin, casual as could be, like this was his bathroom and I was the intruder.
Dazed, I retreated to the kitchen. After swallowing down two painkillers, I rested my forehead against the cool metal of the refrigerator, wondering if I was in some sort of fever dream. Rory Thorne was in my house, brushing his teeth with my toothbrush. Had I stumbled into an alternate dimension?
After several cool minutes against the fridge, I regained enough composure to text Kit to let him know Rory wouldn’t be home, then poured him a glass of water. He still hadn’t returned to the living room, so I went to find him before he helped himself to anything else of mine.
The bathroom was empty.
Strange.
My bedroom door was ajar, the light off. I pushed it open, half expecting to find him rifling through my drawers.
Instead, I found Rory asleep on my queen-sized bed, sprawled atop the duvet with my shirt clutched around him like a security blanket.
God, he looked so different like this. So peaceful. Every sharp edge softened.
But no. No way was Rory stealing my fucking bed, after all he’d put me through tonight.
“Rory,” I hissed, stepping closer. “Get up.”
Rory responded with a soft snore, burrowing deeper into my shirt.
I stood there, torn between dragging him off the bed and just giving up. My back twinged at the thought of spending the night on my too-small sofa, the day’s tension settling between my shoulder blades like concrete.
Maybe I could just stretch out on the other side of the bed for a few minutes, work out the kinks in my spine before resigning myself to my fate…
I clawed out my contacts before I lay down, keeping a careful distance between us. Just five minutes, then I’d relocate to the sofa. Rory stirred but didn’t wake, his breathing changing rhythm before settling back into a steady pattern.
I couldn’t help but glance at his face again. No smirk, no raised eyebrow, no challenging stare. Just a… softness.
…warm…not alone…safe…
His thoughts drifted to me, unguarded and simple. When was the last time anyone had feltsafewith me? Usually, I was the harbinger of bad news, the bearer of warrants, the voice telling you your loved one wasn’t coming home.
Rory shifted again, mumbling something unintelligible. I found myself attuning to his breathing, the gentle rise and fall of his chest beneath my shirt.
Five minutes stretched to ten. My headache reduced to a dull ache, and my eyelids grew heavy, tension unspooling from my muscles. Rory’s rhythmic breathing became a metronome, lulling me toward sleep.I should move. I really shouldmove.
But I didn’t.
Instead, I let my eyes close, just for a moment. Just until I gathered the energy to get up.
The last thing I registered before drifting off was Rory’s breathing syncing with mine, our chests rising and falling in perfect unison, as if we’d somehow found the same wavelength in sleep that constantly eluded us in waking life.
5
Rory
Darkness pressed against my eyelids. The basement again. Cold concrete beneath my bare feet, the musty smell of damp and disappointment filling my nostrils.
