Page 19 of The Complete Truth Duet
“Hey, Penn? You up?”
I propped myself up on my elbows. “Yeah.”
The door swung open, light flooding in around his dark silhouette. Leaning his shoulder against the doorjamb, he crossed his arms over his chest. “You think there’s anywhere around here that sells full-body condoms?”
Squinting, I put a hand up to block the blinding light. “This neighborhood? Probably.”
He chuckled. “That couch is a nightmare. I swear something’s dead inside it. I’m gonna see if I can find a place open that sells an air mattress. We should probably start thinking about buying some new stuff.”
“We gonna be here long enough to warrant furnishing the place?”
He shrugged. “Maybe we should hold off on hiring an interior decorator and the custom addition of a second bedroom, but a futon that’s not covered in another man’s cum stains and a TV that turns on don’t seem like too much to ask.”
Shaking my head, I aimed a grin at the floor. “You always were a diva.”
“You know it. Wait until tomorrow morning. I’m gonna start demanding shit like coffee that doesn’t taste like asphalt.”
Drew was crazy, but I’d missed him so damn much over the last few years. Losing him during such a traumatic time in my life had only made my anger and isolation that much more devastating. He got on my nerves to no end, but he was also the only person who made me feel human.
After Lisa, there weren’t a lot of people left in my life. My parents had passed away shortly after I’d graduated college, and the few friends I’d had who didn’t remind me of her had wisely hit the road when I’d transformed into a miserable bastard. There had been a lot of dark days for me.
Dark weeks.
Dark months.
Dark years.
But Drew? He hadn’t judged me when I’d shut down, nor had he attempted to force me to move on when I could barely breathe through the rage. He understood my pain on levels no else could. And I loved him beyond measure for that alone.
“Any chance I can get the keys to my truck?” he asked. “I’m not feeling up to getting mugged tonight.”
“Your truck?”
“Uhhh, did you not sell it to me? Because I distinctly remember handing you a dollar and you writing me a bill of sale.”
“You dick, it’s still mine. We only put it in your name because if something happens to me you wouldn’t have been able to buy a new one.”
He squinted one eye. “See, I hear what you’re saying, but I’m pretty sure no matter how you spin this, it all ends with the truck being mine.” He grinned.
I rolled my eyes, snagging the keys from my bag and then throwing them his way. “Whatever. Be careful with her. You break it, you buy it. For real this time.”
He caught them in one hand, a wicked smile splitting his mouth. “I’ll get a twenty-five-dollar IOU ready.”
His footsteps disappeared down the hall, and then, with the slam of the front door, I was alone and trapped inside my own head again. It was a terrible place. One filled with blood and despair, built on a foundation of helplessness and failure.
It was where I’d lived every night for the last four years. And where I was so desperately hoping to escape.
“Please!”
One in. One out.
At some point, I must have dozed off, my body finally trumping my mind, because when I rolled over, the clock read three and I’d yet to hear Drew come home. Obviously, he’d gone in search for more than just an air mattress. Like a warm bed that included the bonus accessory of a naked woman.
I couldn’t blame him. My life had never been the revolving door of women that his had been, but there had been a few drunken nights when I’d found myself with a woman in my bed since I’d lost Lisa. They were usually hollow, meaningless one-night stands dictated by biology. But I was no saint. They’d happened. And I understood why Drew would be out searching for that. When a mind was so consumed with hate and pain, even a single second of distraction felt like a monumental reprieve.
And, God, did I need a reprieve from the chaos in my head right about then.
The curve of Cora’s ass flashed into my mind.
“Shit,” I breathed, scrubbing my hands over my face as if I could erase the thoughts.
Giving up on sleep, I sat up, my back screaming in protest. At thirty-seven, my body wasn’t nearly as forgiving as it had once been. I ate right, worked out, all that shit that would supposedly extend my fruitful journey on this wonderful planet. Cough. Bullshit. Mentally and emotionally, I felt like I was at least two hundred—and dead.
I tugged a shirt on and wandered down the hall to the kitchen. Hugo’s crap was still everywhere. Obviously, Drew had not been doing the Mr. Clean routine the way I had in the bedroom. I was digging through the bag of food we’d brought, in search of my protein powder, when I heard footsteps pounding on the stairs. I froze, trying to figure out if they were coming or going, and then the pounding hit my door.
