Page 22 of When The Noise Stops

Chapter 8

Lila

I woke up on his leather couch with his blanket over me and the smell of him—motor oil and something clean, like soap—wrapped around me like a second skin. I remembered eating pot pie and watching TV, then nothing. I felt rested. I hadn't slept like that in years, and he was the reason, but it wasn't the right time to think about that.

I sat up slowly. Blinked. The room was bright. Morning light was streaming through the curtains. His apartment looked different in the daytime—so much different than mine. It had more personality, like he'd fixed it up himself. Our landlord, an older woman who didn't need the money, had duplexes all over the area. She didn't mind us changing things, as long as it didn't ruin her property. There were faux-concrete walls, exposed pipes along the ceiling, and gallery lights aimed at three old photographs: men on motorcycles, helmets, leather, dust, and sun in the background.

The couch was big, gray, and L-shaped.

There was a coffee table in the middle—dark wood, black metal legs. A mug. A book face down. That was it.

I heard movement in the kitchen. The clang of a pan. Then, "Fucking hell."

I smiled.

I stood and pulled the blanket tight around me. He kept the place cold as Antarctica. I padded into the kitchen.

He was at the stove. Shirtless. Scarred—down his back was one long, jagged line, like someone had tried to carve his spine out. My fingers itched to touch it. My tongue peeked out, wanting to trace it. I closed my eyes. Calm down.

The kitchen smelled like bacon.

"Good morning, Grizz."

He turned. He hadn't heard me. His eyes went wide for half a second before he schooled his face back to that flat expression.

"You're awake."

"I am."

He grunted and turned back to the stove.

I watched him for a minute. He was having difficulty; I could tell there would be shells in the eggs he was cracking.

"Let me," I said, stepping up beside him.

"You're burning the bacon." I nudged him out of the way and took over the stove. He stood next to her for a second, watching, then moved to the table. Sat. Let me work.

I made us breakfast: eggs, bacon, toast with jam I found in his fridge, and coffee that tasted like motor oil because he only had sugar, no cream.

"Thanks," he said.

I nodded.

We ate in silence. It was killing me because I remembered what today was. My group meeting was in two hours. I'd surround myself with a room full of women who knew exactly what it felt like to look at a man and see a monster instead.

I didn't want to go. But I needed to.

I pushed my plate away, half-empty.

"You can have your friends back today."

He looked up.

"What?"

"Tiny and them. I relinquish them back to you. I already told them I'm not opening the bakery till noon. Got something to do this morning," I shrugged.

"They can do whatever it is you do when you're not working."