Page 32 of Misguided
“Thanks, love.” I lean in and give her a peck on the cheek.
No way in fucking hell am I asking King where I’m likely to find Mel bedded down for the night. Asshole would castrate me in front of the brothers just to make a point.
I glance over my shoulder and catch a glimpse of Sonya as she disappears with the trash, and then make a wide berth around King as I make my way to the stairs again.
I can’t fully explain why I’ve got this dire need to seek her out, what it is about this little mystery that grabs me even after all this time. But a niggle in the back of my mind points to the gap between who Mel was when I first knew her, and who she is now.
Gone is the vibrant, outgoing girl that everybody knew at Fort Worth. Her smile’s faded, her spirit squashed down under the weight of her troubles. Instead, I find an unsure wreck of a woman who constantly over-analyzes everything around her. A delicate bundle of nerves that holds the real Mel captive.
As I stand in the hallway, staring at the numerous closed doors to narrow down my choice, it strikes me hard what it is about her that draws me in.
The familiarity.
I’ve always found time with Mel is such an easy thing to spend. She sucks me in, pulling my focus completely on her so I don’t even give a second thought to what else I might be missing out on. She’s security, the safe place I can go where I know without a shadow of a doubt she wouldn’t judge me for my stupid decisions or dumb fucking behavior. She likes me as me, as I love her as she is too.
The allure is her.
But the old her.
I want to fix her; strip back what’s worn and broken, and polish what lies beneath.
Holding my finger before me, I play a quick game of eeny-meeny-miney-moe with the doors. Four I can rule out because they belong to permanent residents, but the other six … I tick off four more since their part-time occupants are currently downstairs getting three sheets to the wind, which leaves Sawyer’s old room, and mine.
I start with his since Sonya’s been known to house people overnight in there since he’s moved out to be with Abbey. Cold, stale air hits me hard as I push the door open, the room shrouded in darkness. Enough light spills in from the hallway to illuminate the end of the bed, and I recognize the bag I see as the one slung over the shoulder of that bird Hooch had with him. What was her name? Something unusual.
Strike one more from the list.
Anticipation weighs heavy in my chest as I back out of the room and cross diagonally over the hallway to the only option left: my room. My hand seems foreign, as though I’m a spectator watching my own body while I reach out for the handle. I twist, and push, fully expecting to be let down when I find the room empty.
Except, there, on the floor beside my bed is a distinctly human shape.
Mel rolls over as I enter, the blanket pulled up tight around her shoulders. “Hey. I didn’t expect you to come up so soon after me.”
“What are you doin’ on my floor?” I step further into the room and nudge the door closed until it rests on the latch.
Darkness falls around us, yet the spill from around the door is enough for me to make out the way she dips her chin and averts her eyes. “I’m sorry. I asked King where I should stay, and he said I’d have to make do on the sofas downstairs after everyone had gone, that all the rooms are full.”
“Yeah, but why are you on my floor?” I repeat.
She sits up, gathering her pillow and reaching for the end of the blanket. “I’ll go see if—”
I hold out my hand, stopping her mid-sentence. “No, babe. I meant why the fuck are you breakin’ your back on the hard as fuck floor? Get on the bed for fuck’s sake.”
She stares up at the mattress beside her, and then back at me. “I …”
“Now.” I flick a finger toward the bed and raise an eyebrow.
She can’t see fuck all in this light, but I’m sure my tone of voice was enough given how she throws her pillow up beside mine and then shuffles to her feet.
“I don’t feel right making you sleep elsewhere, Dog,” she mutters while setting her blanket up over mine. “This is your room—you should have it.”
“Who said I’m sleepin’ anywhere else?” Her rustling movements behind me still as I face the bureau and strip my cut off. “We’ll share.”
She doesn’t say anything more, staying as quiet as a doormouse while I strip my T-shirt off, unbuckle my belt, and then drop my jeans to my ankles, shucking them off with my boots in one go.
I turn to find her sitting on my bed, wide-eyed in the dark. I’m sure she can see enough.
“It’s all good,” I drawl, crawling up the mattress from the foot end. “I won’t try anythin’ you don’t want me to.”