I felt disconnected in his space. Like my tethers had been cut and I was floating, pinwheeling my arms yet not moving in the right direction. There was no lock on his bedroom door. It wasn’t even shut, the thin crack outlined and capitalized in black. I could see the darkness creeping through that crack, stealing into and filling the space. How could he sleep with it open? I rolled right, away from his body, and put my bare feet on the floor. Pushed to standing and walked over to it, the floor quiet and cool. Long and thin ceramic tiles, they looked like gray driftwood. The Realtor had raved about them, promising durability and style. The grout in between their planks was black. The color scheme and tile combination would hide bloodstains well. I twisted the knob of the door and pushed it shut, the door settling quietly into place, no slam, no loud noises. Well made. Good for me, I’d purchased a well-built house. I turned to move back. We hadn’t discussed me spending the night. It had just happened. We’d practically broken the bed making up, then collapsed on it, his arm dragging me into his chest, his kiss soft against my head, his voice sleepy when he said, “Stay.”

So I’d stayed. Wrapped a leg around his hip and curved into his body. Listened to his breath settle into sleep. I’d closed my eyes and hoped for sleep. Said my prayers and sent a few messages upward to Summer and Trent. Lied a little in the update I sent to my father. I didn’t pray to my mother. There are nights I do, nights I don’t. I thought about my grandparents, how it had been too long since I called them to check in. In college, I did it monthly. Now… it’s mostly limited to holidays and birthdays. Honestly, I think they dread my calls almost as much as I do. I thought until I ran out of things to think about.

I moved to the window and tweaked the blinds. Stared through narrow slits at FtypeBaby, who sat like a coiled cat on the curb, a devil in suburbia. I saw a shadow move and hoped for a car thief, someone looking in her windows, a crowbar in hand. It’s not murder if it’s justified. I closed the blinds and turned back to the bed. Looked at the man lying there and wondered how vulnerable he made me. How deep in I really was. Wondered if the tug on my heart was love for him or desire for the life he represented, one of freedom and normality.

“What’s healthiest for you is a strong relationship, built on an honest framework.”

I knew that Derek was right, that Jeremy needed to love all of me, including the dark corners. But J didn’t know those corners. I’ve flooded our relationship with enough sexy sparkles and deception to distract him. It’s easy to distract a man who doesn’t want to look in the first place. Our relationship worked because we both had the same goal, to avoid the inevitable. But what was the inevitable? Was it for Jeremy to leave me because of the secrets he finds out? Or was it for me to snap and kill us both in a moment of breakage?

CHAPTER 55

Past

WHEN I WOKE up in Jeremy’s bed, I cried. I shouldn’t have cried. When a person wakes up to the smell of bacon, to the sound of a spatula scraping against a skillet, it shouldn’t produce tears.

“Deanna.” Two tiny hands pushed at my hip and I rolled onto my stomach.

“Go away.”

“Get up!” Trent’s voice, when properly worked up, had an expectant air of authority that closely mimicked my father.

“No. It’s Saturday.”

“Mom says to get up. ’Reakfast is ready.”

I lifted my head long enough to smell bacon. Weighed the temptation and lowered my head back to the pillow. “Tell her I’m skipping breakfast.” My pillow was wet from drool, and I twisted my head to the other side.

“Hi.” The whisper was directly in front of me, a huff of breath hitting my cheek, and I opened my eyes. Summer’s eyes widened when she smiled, her tiny hot pink nails biting into my bedspread as she rested her chin on the bed, our faces inches apart. On her head, for some unknown reason, sat a crown.

“Hi, pumpkin.” I closed my eyes. “Tell Trent to leave me alone.”

“TRREEEEENNNT!” she hollered louder than any little girl on earth. “’Eeanna says to GO AWAY!”

The little boy’s hands pushed on my legs again, the sheet dragging away from me as he got hold of it. I grabbed at the material and kicked out with my feet. “Stop it, Trent! Go downstairs!” I turned to Summer and waved my hand at her. “You too! Both of you—out!”

“Deanna!” I heard my mother yell from downstairs. “Come down to breakfast. It’s past ten!”

“Please let me sleep in!” I called back, ignoring the dramatic stomp of Summer, her blond curls flying, her parting look one of indignation.

“I’m not warming this back up for you!”

I plopped back down. Like anyone wanted warmed-up eggs and bacon. “I’ll be fine!” I called out, pulling the spread over my head and closing my eyes. From downstairs, something was called up, but I missed it.

That afternoon, I’d left for my grandparents’. That night, everyone died. I missed the last breakfast we’d ever had had together as a family. I opened my eyes in Jeremy’s house, smelled the familiar scent, and was flooded with a hundred memories I’d hoped to never find again. I curled into his pillow, rolled my lips between my teeth, and tried to contain myself, the break of emotions pushing through, shaking my body, my eyes burning wet at the corners. It was fucking bacon. Not a family video of the five of us. Not the sound of Summer’s giggle or Trent’s shout. It was Jeremy, probably attempting to be sweet and cook his insane girlfriend some breakfast. I needed to be normal right now. I needed to be bright and grateful and sexy. I needed to be the girl who wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed his ass. Who crunched on bacon and perched on his counter. I could be that girl; I could play that girl. I closed my eyes and pretended the cameras were rolling, hot lights on. I pretended I was in my pink bedroom, with a hundred clients before me. I pretended I was Jessica Reilly and rolled out of bed.

“Please tell me that’s bacon!” I called out the words and checked out my reflection. Wiped a smudge of mascara under my eyes and blinked rapidly. Put a skip in my step and rounded the corner, skidding across the floor and meeting his eyes, a smile easy and natural when I saw him there, shirtless, in blue boxer briefs, the love on his face when he smiled at me warming every corner of Jess Reilly’s soul.

I stepped closer and he reached for me, holding the spatula out of the way as he hugged me, the pop and sizzle of the pan behind us. When he dipped his head I lifted my chin, and smiled against his kiss when he pulled me closer. Hard. My man was hard while scrambling eggs. I giggled and pushed him away.

“Not yet.” I rounded the corner and pulled up a stool. “I’m starving. Food, then sex.”

He winced and pulled a plate from the cabinet. “Well then… in that case, let me feed you.”

I smiled, I ate every bite. I knelt on his new couch and moaned his name as he took me from behind. But I never forgot about the bacon. And I never washed my family from my mind. Not that morning, not that day, not even now.

I could play the part.

I could walk the walk.

I just didn’t know how to make it stick.

After bacon and eggs and sex, we washed the dishes, Jeremy’s hands in the suds, mine on a towel. Our elbows bumped, his wet hand occasionally brushed mine, and there was a moment when he pressed against me and put a gentle kiss against the back of my neck. Once the dishes were washed, we moved to the couch, his arm looped around my shoulder, my head resting on his chest. And I realized, my bare feet digging under a throw blanket, that it was the first time we’d ever been on a couch together. We watched Andy Griffith episodes, then a show called Beachfront Bargains, and discussed vacation destinations we’d try and houses we’d buy. Pretended, while he ran his fingers through my hair, that we had a chance at that future. Then, in the third episode, he lifted me up and slid behind me. Lying down, he held me against his body, his breath warm on the back of my neck. I closed my eyes, wrapped in his arms, and didn’t think about the clients who were waiting for me, missed appointments ticking by. I enjoyed the moment, in his house, in his arms. I enjoyed the moment and drifted off to sleep.