Page 64 of Zeus

Zeus

I'm not in my head the way I expected I would be.

My body is calm and relaxed. I don't feel an ounce of guilt.

The shame that always threatens is even more silent as we get out of the shower. I head to my room to get dressed, and I presume that Zayne does the same.

What brings reality slamming back into our world is walking out of my room to find Scott standing in the middle of the living room.

I've been in countless situations where I have to think on the fly, come up with something believable, and not blow my cover. But when I see Scott's eyes dart from the towel around Zayne's bare shoulders to the one in my hand as I continue to walk into the room, drying my hair, I almost freeze. I know doing so would be more than a little suspicious, and I somehow manage to keep my cool.

"If you left water all over the floor in the kitchen after washing your hair in the sink, I'll kick your fucking ass," I mutter as I head in that direction, my back to the invader, allowing me to get my shit together.

Laughter follows me into the small kitchen, but it doesn't go unnoticed that the sound came from Zayne while Scott remains silent.

"Goddamnit," I mutter, dropping my towel to the floor, praying the other man can't see into the darkened room well enough to realize there actually isn't any water on the floor.

I use my bare foot to rub the towel around, as if cleaning up the mess I predicted.

"And I told you not to use up all the hot water. I can skip a fucking shower day, but greasy hair isn't going to cut it," Zayne responds, playing right along.

I turn to face the two of them, looking at Scott to see if he's buying what we're selling.

Zayne looks from me back to Scott before speaking again. "If I don't wash my hair at the same time he's in there, I'll have to wait a fucking hour for that old-ass water heater to replenish. I'm fucking beat and just want to go to bed."

I watch as Scott's mind works, relief easing a little of the tension in my shoulders when he smiles, fully accepting what we've told him.

"Well, you won't have to worry about that shit any longer," Scott says, and the tone of his voice makes me stiffen once again.

My pulse pounds in my ears as I attempt to calculate the time it would take to get back to my room to get my gun before he can pull one himself and kill us both.

"Pack your shit. Bobby wants you home before the sun comes up."

I tilt my head to the side. His words are not something I expect, and that's when the guilt I wasn't feeling earlier hits me in the chest.

As awful as this shitty house is, I somehow managed to see it as home, a safe place where I can be who I am without worry of fear or consequences. The safety I let myself believe in here is fake, something I conjured in my mind, not something that ever really existed. We're on a job, and our behavior has the potential to not only compromise our mission, but it also has the power to get us killed.

I should fucking know better, and yet I let my need for Zayne cloud my judgment and actions.

"Perfect," Zayne responds, with an almost believable excitement in his voice. "If you could—"

Scott holds his hands up before taking a step back. "Not a fucking chance."

In the next breath, the man is out the front door and gone, the silent room he left behind feeling half as small as it actually is.

"This is fucking perfect," Zayne says as he turns to face me.

I open my mouth to argue, but he points to the ceiling. I didn't need the reminder earlier tonight, but I'm grateful for it now.

I clamp my lips closed as I shake my head in irritation in his direction.

"Thankfully, we haven't had time to unpack all that shit in the closet," he says as he walks closer.

He reaches out and squeezes my shoulder, a frown on his handsome face when he sees me flinch, knowing full well it's his touch that’s causing the reaction and not the situation we're in.

He dips his head in understanding as if it's something he fully expected of me all along, but before I can grab his hand and drag him somewhere I can talk freely without fear of being overheard, he's already walking away.

Guilt from someplace deeper inside of me bubbles up, but we have a goal, and we can't let our emotions or our history get in the way of that. I guess I can only hope that he'll be open to listening when I have the chance to speak with him after all of this shit is over.