Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63400 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63400 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
This is stupid. I should be able to quell my own fears enough to get to sleep. But it is equally stupid that I know I’ll feel better just being in the same room as Z. As dangerous as he may be, he makes me feel safe.
It isn’t really a decision. I find myself on the stairs a few minutes later. The house is so quiet that I can hear the refrigerator cycling on from a room away. I’m barefoot, moving silently and only when I hear the distinctive sound of a gun cocking do I realize my error.
“It’s just me,” I call out to the darkness.
“Fuck. Don’t do that to me,” Z berates me.
I still don’t see him. He’d closed most of the blinds, leaving just a small slit of moonlight shining through into the darkness. It takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the darker room before I can pick him out next to the couch.
“Sorry, I can’t sleep.” My apology is lame.
“You need to keep trying. This is probably the last night you’ll have in a comfortable bed for a while.”
I’m not sure what the hell that means. Even if we leave here and go to another location, surely we’ll stop at a motel or something to get some sleep, right?
He sets the gun down on the coffee table before taking a seat.
“I won’t be able… I mean…” Why am I nervous? Spit it out. “Can I please sleep down here with you?” After the words leave, I realize he’ll probably think I mean a different kind of sleep. “I’ll stay over here on this couch if you want me to,” I say, pointing to the loveseat across from him. “I just don’t like being upstairs alone.”
He answers with a simple nod.
I move a couple of the throw pillows to the other end of the loveseat, making it easier to lie on my uninjured shoulder. My knife wound has started to throb in the last few hours since I stopped taking the pain meds. Once I’m curled up on my side, Z pushes to his feet and reaches for a small blanket thrown over a chair near the fireplace.
“It’s gonna get chilly in here, but I don’t want to start a fire.” He lays the cover over me, tucking me in.
It’s so tempting to reach out and touch him, but I don’t. Instead, I settle on a simple, “Thanks.”
He pauses long enough that I think he might lean in for a goodnight kiss, but then he stands and returns to his own couch.
Sleep still evades me, but just being able to see the shadow of Z a few feet away is enough to keep my panic at bay. I wait to hear his breathing slow—even out—like it had the night before when I’d been sleeping in his arms in his bed at The Whitney. But it doesn’t come.
Sometime later, I can’t take it anymore and whisper out into the darkness. “Are you still awake?”
“Yeah, but you shouldn’t be.”
“I just have one important question and then I’ll sleep, I promise.” I’m grateful it’s too dark for him to see the smile on my face.
“Okay…” he says. I can hear he is wary of what I might ask.
“Your real name… It’s Zeek, isn’t it?”
His soft laughter is exactly what I need to help me release the last of my tension.
“Goodnight, Rowan.”
Goodnight, Z.
***
It was a crappy night’s sleep, but I know I got at least a few hours in because I can remember some of the nightmares when I wake up. The sun is shining in through the opening of the drapes and there’s enough light to see that Z is finally sleeping on the couch across from me. He’d been awake each time I’d checked on him through the night, so I know he is going to be exhausted today.
Giving up on getting any more sleep, I push to my feet and quietly head into the kitchen. I should be able to figure out something to fix us for breakfast, and at the very least, make a pot of coffee.
After the coffee is brewing, I say a silent thanks to my friend Jasper for keeping a stocked pantry. I make a mental note to find some bags or boxes after we eat breakfast so I can pack up as many of the supplies as we can for when we leave later. If Z is right, and we need to get lost off the grid, whatever the hell that means, then I suspect being well stocked with food supplies will be critical.
“The coffee smells good.”
“You snuck up on me!” My heart rate proves I’m as tense as ever this morning.
“Kinda like you last night. You’re lucky you didn’t get shot.”
How quickly life changes. A few days ago, I never would have thought I’d think someone telling me that I was lucky I didn’t get shot could be real, but the throbbing in my shoulder reminds me just how real this all is.