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And I had to think about Nolo, too. I didn’t want to betray his trust in me, he’d been the most important person in my life for so long now…
Or was I just using him as a convenient excuse for my own fears?
Jesus fucking Christ. I didn’t know anymore. I was trying so hard not to be a fuck up, and in the end… I think I was fucking up worse, for both the people I was trying so desperately to protect.
I stared for a long, long time at Peyton’s closed door, wracked with guilt and not knowing any longer what the best thing to do even was.
I don’t even know why she wants me, I thought angrily. I’m fucking useless at this.
Eventually, when I could hear that Peyton’s sobs had subsided to sniffles, I lifted my fist and knocked gently on her door.
I didn’t know what the right thing to do was, but I could at least do something little for her. Something small. Something that might even bring her some comfort for the duration of her stay with me, at least I could hope it would.
I cleared my throat. “Peyton?” She didn’t answer, but I continued anyway. “I have news about your apartment.”
A full minute passed before she opened the door, eyes puffy and red, skin pale and splotchy, but still she was the most beautiful fucking thing I’d ever seen. “What news?”
“The cops have released it, so you can go back and grab your things, but I doubt you want to go back there to live, even once the cleanup crew have done their job. Figured you might want to see what you could salvage, and you can store it in my garage.”
“I do.”
“If you like, I could take you, now?”
She nodded, and shut the door in my face, returning a few minutes later in jeans and a t-shirt, her hair tugged into a solemn bun at her neck. “Ready. Let’s go.”
When we hopped on my bike, I couldn’t help but notice that her touch around my waist was a lot lighter than usual, as if she was doing everything she could to touch me as little as possible. I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from mentioning it, from asking her to hold tighter, just so I could feel the comfort of her body pressed against my back.
When we arrived, neither of us removed our helmets until we were in her apartment. The silence between us stretched.
The place was a fucking mess. Peyton, however, wasn’t deterred. She stepped right in, tiptoeing over blood stains as she made her way to what I assumed was her bedroom, which was largely untouched.
“Well,” she finally sighed, and looked around the room with an assessing gaze.
“What can I do?”
“Nothing.” There was no venom in her words, but they hurt just the same. She moved back and forth around the room, picking up clothes and packing what she could, making a trash bag for the ones she planned to toss.
I stand and watch the emotions that flashed in her eyes as she got rid of things she clearly wanted to keep, but they’d been destroyed by forensics or by blood, and in some cases both. Books and photos went into one bag, clothing and toiletries into another, and shoes in yet another. It wasn’t much, but eventually there were six bags packed and two meant for the trash.
“Is that everything?”
She sighed. “No, but it’s everything worth salvaging.” Without asking for my help, she moved two bags at a time to the empty spot near the front door. Damn stubborn woman was so determined to prove she didn’t need me. Not that I blamed her, but it hurt like hell. I grabbed all the remaining bags in one go, and hauled them to the door anyway, despite how clear she made it that she didn’t want my help.
“Are we ready?”
“No.” She shook her head as her gaze lasered in on a stack of envelopes on the coffee table. “I need to check the bills.” Her words tapered off as she stared at each envelope for a little too long. “That little bitch,” she growled. “Chloe was overcharging me for internet and cable. Had me paying for a cell phone I didn’t even know existed.”
“A phone? Is the number listed there?”
“Yeah. Who the fuck still gets paper bills anymore?”
I called the number, and we heard a low buzz in the direction of Peyton’s bedroom. She beat me there, nearly tumbling over the sofa. When I stepped inside the room, she was on her knees with her fine ass perched high in the air as she struggled to reach something under her bed.
She grunted, and then sprang free from under the bed with a shoe box. Like a kid on Christmas morning, she tore it open and frowned at the contents. “None of this is mine,” she said as she rifled through letters, photos, and bundles of cash.
“Is that Chloe in the photos?”
“Yeah. I don’t know who the guy with her is, though. Why was she hiding this under my fucking bed?” She stared at the photo as if she could will his identity into existence. “We should take this with us. Right?”
