Chapter 19

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Troy

The next morning dawns bright and early with Shelby and Noah waking up at six thirty. They're normally early risers, but this is a lot, even for them. I'd hoped they'd sleep in later this morning since they were up later than normal with the fire anyway.

I hear them in and out of the bathroom, their voices piping through the wall like it's made of cardboard, and I can hear them demanding I take them swimming this morning. Tina tries valiantly to keep them quiet, but I can tell it's a lost cause.

The tension is palpable when I come out of my room dressed in swim shorts, my towel slung over my shoulder, figuring a jump in the lake with the kids'll do a better job of waking me up than coffee.

Tina gives me an apologetic grimace and I return it with my own bleary-eyed version of a smile.

Of course, once we make it downstairs, Dozer stumbles out of his and Jenny's room. "Guys, can we keep it down?" he asks through a yawn, raising one arm in a stretch and scratching his exposed gut with the other. "Jenny has a hangover."

Tina glares daggers at him, opening her mouth on a deep breath, and I'm not sure if she's going to shriek at the top of her lungs out of spite or rip Dozer a new asshole in front of the kids. But Nick steps in before she can do either, grabbing Dozer by the scruff of the neck and steering him onto the deck. After starting a pot of coffee—because we all needed some or the house would end up in a heap of ashes and rubble before ten—I decide to join them. Not that I'm worried that Nick won't be able to control himself. He's good at getting guys acting like assholes to shape up. But I figure he could use the backup.

Plus, I don't want to be in the room if Jenny has the guts to come out and tell Tina or the kids to be quiet. Tina has more patience than anyone I know, but she's the epitome of the mama bear stereotype. If Jenny wants to put herself in the line of fire, I'm not foolish enough to get in the way.

But by the time I get out to the deck, Dozer's hanging his head saying, "Yeah. I understand."

Nick claps him on the back. "Good." Giving me a nod, they both go inside, and Dozer disappears back into his room. "Thanks for starting the coffee," Nick says, moving to get down three mugs, ranging them on the counter before stepping up to his wife, hugging her from behind and kissing her neck as she peels a banana for Noah.

After we all grab a quick breakfast, Nick and I take the kids down to the water, and I'm pretty sure Tina goes back to bed for a nap, though she joins us about an hour later. The tension hangs thick over all of us, even without Dozer and Jenny's company. But it gets far worse when they both stumble down to the water sometime just before lunch, Dozer looking hangdog and ashamed, Jenny bleary-eyed and oblivious.

Tina glares at both of them, but doesn't say anything, though I heard her whispering harshly to Nick a few times. But then Anna calls, providing me with an escape.

Her call is a relief for more than one reason.

Some part of me was worried that she wouldn't reach out today. Or that she'd wait until much later in the day and I wouldn't get to spend much time with her. It's Sunday, after all, and she has a regular nine-to-five job, so she'll be at work tomorrow.

When I come down from my room, keys in hand, freshly showered, and wearing shorts and a clean T-shirt, Nick glances at me from his spot on the couch. Noah's sitting on his lap, Shelby's cuddled against him on his other side, and both kids are nearly comatose as they watch Dora the Explorer .

He raises his eyebrows in question but doesn't vocalize it for fear of disturbing the kids.

"Anna," I mouth, hitching my thumb over my shoulder. He gives me a thumbs up, letting his head fall back against the couch cushion, his eyes closing. I give them all another fifteen minutes before the three of them are conked out.

Tina's sitting at the breakfast bar with a book, and she looks up and whispers, "Escaping?"

Grinning, I nod. "Meeting up with Anna," I whisper back.

Her eyes spark with interest and more life than they've held all morning. "Good for you." She glances around, her eyes lingering on the hall to Dozer and Jenny's room. "I can't blame you for wanting to bail." Slipping off her stool, she steps closer to me. "I'm thinking we need to ask Dozer to take Jenny back home. I'm okay with him coming back without her if he wants, but I can't have another night like last night. This was our vacation. And he didn't even clear bringing a guest ahead of time." Her whisper grows more fierce with each sentence.

That tidbit of info about Dozer not mentioning Jenny to Nick comes as a surprise, but it's nice to know I wasn't the only one caught off guard. I raise my hands. "Do what you need to, Tina. You'll get no argument from me."

"At least I don't have to worry about you bringing home a drunk asshole. Anna's a good one." She gives me a quick side hug, then shoos me away. "Now go. Flee while you can. Have fun."

I flash her a smile. "Thanks, Tina. Don't murder anyone."

She holds up her hands as she settles back into her seat. "I can't make any promises."

Smirking, I slip out the front door. Before I get into my car, I pull up the address Anna sent me on my preferred GPS app so I know where I'm going. Then I send her a quick text.

Leaving now. See you soon!

Anna

Sounds good

I stare at her response for a beat before starting the car. Her immediate response communicates excitement, but the words less so. But she seemed into the idea last night, and she called me earlier to set this up, so I'm just getting into my head about nothing. So what if she's not an enthusiastic texter? If she put a bunch of exclamation points and emojis, that would make me feel weird too, because it doesn't fit with her personality, so I need to quit spinning myself out about her acknowledgment and just go already.

As I approach the little building that matches her address, I drum my fingers on my steering wheel, unaccountably nervous. Sure, we spent most of yesterday together, but somehow that fact doesn't make me feel any less like a rookie about to go on the ice for his first professional game—a complicated mixture of nerves, excitement, anticipation, and the words don't fuck this up echoing in my head.

After parking on the street, I let out a breath, double-check that I'm looking for unit D, and climb out of the car.

When she answers her door, it's clear I'm not the only one who's nervous. Her smile looks strained, and she sounds overly bright when she says, "Hey! Troy! Come in! I just need to grab my shoes and my purse and …" She trails off, looking around like she can't remember what else she might need.

But I take the invitation and step inside her open door as she moves around, her movements distracted and jerky.

And for some fucked up reason, her nerves soothe mine. Taking a deep breath, I reach out and catch her hand, pitching my voice so it's low and soothing. "Hey. Anna. C'mere."

She stops like a toy robot who's had the power cut, but when she turns toward me, the frantic, jerky quality of her movements has disappeared. She lets me reel her in, moving toward me easily, no sign of protest in her body language or face.

When she reaches my chest, I loop my arms around her, just holding her. It takes her a second, but then her hands come up behind me. Letting out a big sigh, she returns my hug.

I wait a few seconds, rubbing her back before I ask, "Better?"

She nods against my chest, then steps back, finally meeting my eyes without that forced smile from before. "Sorry," she murmurs, but I shake my head before she can go further.

"Don't apologize. You don't have anything to be sorry for."

Sitting in the chair pushed against her tiny dining room table, she puts on her sandals and buckles them one at a time. "I feel like I shouldn't be nervous about this, but at the same time, I really, really am." She lets out an almost rueful chuckle.

A smile tips my own lips. "Hey. I get it. I was nervous too."

She lets out a breath, looking toward her living room as she takes in that piece of information. "Huh. It's funny to me that you would be nervous."

Part of me wants to press that, but I decide not to, instead taking time to look at her apartment.

It's neat and tidy, which doesn't surprise me, with a knitted blanket of various shades of cream and brown draped over the back of her tan couch, which faces a nice flat-screen TV. It's a little small, but so is the living room, so it seems like it works. There's a matching armchair to one side with a brown throw pillow perched just so and a lamp flanking it. There's another lamp on a side table on the other side of the couch. The walls feature fairly minimal decor, but what's there is tasteful and neutral. It looks like something out of a magazine spread about making your space a retreat—natural colors and textures in varying neutral shades with a heavy emphasis on white or cream.

It's nice. Soothing, if a little impersonal. I search for some clue about the woman who lives here, something indicating the spark of passion I felt from her yesterday, but it seems this is more of the tight control that she expresses most of the time.

"Nice place," I tell her as she finishes gathering her phone and keys. She seems to hesitate as she stares into her purse. "Have everything?" I prompt.

Her mouth hooks to one side, then she gives a decisive nod, putting the long strap of her dark brown purse over her head so it drapes across her body, bisecting her breasts in a way that puts them on display, though I'm not sure that she realizes that. I can't help dragging my eyes down and then back up her body. She's wearing a clingy moss green tank top tucked into loose cream shorts that make me want to slide my hand under them and see what she's wearing underneath.

Clearing my throat, I tear my eyes away, looking instead at her minimalist kitchen. The small amount of counter space is bare and free from clutter. Only a microwave, a toaster, and a one-cup coffee maker taking up any counter space. There's not even a stray cup or coffee mug sitting out. She must be one of those who loads her dishes in the dishwasher as soon as she's done using them. Not a thing out of place.

"Ready?" she asks.

Blinking, I nod, stepping through the door when she opens it. "I usually drive downtown," she says when she locks the door behind us, "but it's not that long of a walk if you're up for that."

She promised me a tour of downtown today, so I smile and hold out my hand for her to take. "That sounds perfect."