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“Please tell me it’s not that building.” Celia nodded toward the tallest condo, the one Emily used to say was where all the snobs lived.
“No, mine’s another block down.” Trenton hesitated, but finally asked, “Is that where your fiancé lives?”
A beat passed, but Celia nodded.
Trenton wondered who the man was, but refrained from asking anything else. He turned on his blinker and pulled into the parking garage. It didn’t take long to find his space. Celia refused to let him help her with her bag again, but she also didn’t hand him his coat back. Instead of slinging the duffel over her shoulder, she gripped the hand straps and held it in front of her.
“The elevators are over here,” Trenton said. “I’m on the fifth floor.”
Neither of them said anything on the trip up. He opened his front door and was pleased to find he’d left the hall light on like usual. He doubted she’d find a darkened hallway very welcoming that night. “You can leave your shoes by the door,” he told her, toeing his own off before going farther in, flipping on more lights as he went.
Celia frowned down at her mud-spattered shoes, peeling off her darkened socks as well before moving in.
“Your room is over to the right, past the bathroom, if you want to put your bag in there. I’ll give you a brief tour, very brief, and then you can get some sleep.” True to his word, he showed her the living room and kitchen, where his own room was, the balcony, and ended back at the shared bathroom. “Sorry, there’s only this and a half bath off the master bedroom, so we’ll be sharing a little.”
“That’s fine,” she said, the only two words she’d added to the tour.
“Are you a night showerer, or morning?” he asked. Emily had always called dibs first thing in the morning and stolen most of the hot water.
“Night,” Celia said.
Trenton smiled. “That will work out, then, since I shower in the morning after my run.” He pointed toward the cabinet in the bathroom. “You’ll find towels in there. Is there anything else you need for now?”
“No,” was the quick reply.
Deciding she was too tired for much of anything else, he nodded. “Good night then.” He turned away.
“Trenton?” Celia called after him.
He paused to look back. She was still clutching his coat as if it were a lifeline.
“Thank you.” The words were simple and solemn, her expression matching.
He nodded. “Sleep well.”
He left her side, crossed the living room to his own room, and shut the door behind him. His hand remained on the knob as he listened to her soft patter from across the condo.
Chapter 7
Hermother’sarmstightenedaround her, the hug much too tight.
“Mom?” Celia called, her heart beating in her chest.
The grip around her became tighter, and Celia lost her breath. “It’s okay, sweetie. It’s okay.” As her mother pulled back, relief filled her even as her pulse continued to race. “You don’t have to worry,” her mother was telling her. “You won’t end up like me. I’ll take care of it.”
The shove in Celia’s stomach took the rest of her breath away as she fell. Her back took the brunt of the top step, sharp pain arching up, but it was only the beginning. Her temple slammed into the wooden stair as she continued to tumble down, and stars flashed in front of her eyes.
Celia jerked upright in bed, the nightmare memory vivid in her mind as she sucked in the breath she’d felt like she was missing. She pulled her knees up, resting her still throbbing temple against them. “A headache. It’s just a headache,” she murmured into her legs, letting the lingering panic subside. She should have never gone to bed without drinking some water, not after consuming alcohol, even the one rum.
It had been a while since her fall down the stairs as a child had haunted her. Of course, she’d been living on the first floor before. With the stairs in the tavern and the upper-level condos, it wasn’t a surprise the fall was on her mind.
Her mother hadn’t done it out of malice. In her mind, she’d been saving her daughter from the worst fate: experiencing the mental confusion she had suffered through all her life. The bruised spine, and broken wrist from trying to stop herself, had been difficult to cover, so her aunt had found out. And that had led to Malcolm checking in on her on another fateful day.
Celia lifted her head, holding her hands out in front of her. That wasn’t the only time she’d broken her wrists. They had healed, but she sometimes felt phantom pain. Or so her last counselor had called it. Her fingers wrapped around the wrist without her rubber band, gently massaging as she took in the guest room around her.
Trenton apparently loved color. The bedspread looked as if an unsupervised child had found tubes of paint and squeezed it all out in globs. Those random colors had bled into the green lamp, the red dresser, and the yellow frame of the standing mirror. Celia avoided that, not needing to see her own face to know she was still exhausted.
Her pillows had followed the rainbow color scheme, and somehow seemed bright even among the darkness. Celia’s favorite part of the room were the sky-blue curtains, hiding the five-story drop beyond. If asked her favorite color, she would have said blue.
