Page 7 of Head Under Water

“Also known as my house, yes.”

“It’s an apartment.”

“A penthouse, then.”

I pretend to gag. Of course he’d call it that.

“Do you want to at least have a look around?”

Begrudgingly, I take a step up onto the landing and toward his door. He moves back, watching me like I’m a wild animal. Or like he’s measuring distance, purposefully keeping space.

I do not want to stay here. With him. It’s going to be miserable. But—and it pains me to be the one to admit this—he’s right. Mom and Margie, the little liars, clearly sent me here because they feel like I’ll be safe until I find a place of my own. Or because they don’t want me tangled up in the investigation, though if they think I’ll keep out of it, they’re very wrong.

Still, I don’t want to push. Mom will shut down if I try, and that’s the last thing I want.

So…

I’ll look around. And, as long as it’s not a biohazard site, I’ll stay for a night or two until I can find my own place. No longer than a week.

With that stupid, cocky walk and that stupid, cocky swagger, he leads me into the apartment and⁠—

Holy shit.

This place is…wow. This place is…

I clear my throat, wiping away the look of awe moments after he catches it. With a totally blank face, I take it in. This place is…incredible. The ceilings here are tall and exposed, with brick walls that seem to go on forever. The floors are smooth concrete, and the space is lit with warm light that makes it all feel too cozy. Too curated. We’re standing in the kitchen, a large room with a long, white quartz island that has a sink built into it. It’s…clean.

Immaculate.

He probably has a cleaning lady he tips with…extracurriculars.

To my left, I can see into the living room. A deep-chocolate sectional placed over a large, white area rug. There’s even a fireplace. Still, no dust. No clutter. No signs of the chaos I’ve always known Will to bring.

“You like it,” he says matter-of-factly.

I wipe the betraying look of appreciation off my face and glare at him. “Well, sure. Mostly because I expected you to live in a refrigerator box in our moms’ driveways forever. So, at this point, anything’s an improvement.”

He snaps his fingers. “Well, that was the plan, but apparently, they don’t come in boxes anymore. So, I thought this would do.” He gestures around. “Kitchen, living room. My bedroom’s at the end of the hall. Yours is here.” He crosses the kitchen and walks down the hallway, pushing open one of the doors. “It’s just been empty since I moved in, so…” He shrugs and seems to lose his train of thought. “It’s ready.”

“Ready?”

His eyes linger on mine for a brief moment, then he looks away in a flash, changing the subject from whatever thought just crossed his mind. It must’ve gotten lonely in there, rattling around in all the empty space. “We’ve got our own bathrooms.”

“A saving grace.”

His lips quirk. “Exactly. Anyway, that’s pretty much it. Thoughts? Opinions? Letters to the editor?”

I draw in a deep breath. It smells faintly of cleaner. Better than the previous whiff of Will. “It’ll do for now. But I’m not staying more than a day or two.”

“Pinky promise?” He plasters on a grin, hands clasped together at his chest like he’s begging.

I roll my eyes, then turn away. “I’m going to get my stuff.”

“Hope you’re not expecting help with that.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Don’t trip on the stairs. It’s a long way down. And don’t scrape them up either, I just had them refinished.”