“You look…” He blinks as if he can’t believe what he’s about to say. “Fantastic.”
I appreciate the compliment, but considering everything, the last thing I want is his flattery. “Can we go inside?”
“Yes, of course.” He digs his keys from his pocket, and when he marches up the steps, he pulls me into his arms. “I feel like I’m dreaming.”
Being in his arms like this used to be my favorite place to be. The place I felt safe in the knowledge that I was important to someone. That my life counted. His arms no longer hold that security.
I pat his back in a silent request for release. “I’m really tired.”
“I’m sorry,” he says and pulls away. I hold my breath against the stench of mildew and garbage in the stairwell as I climb to our second-floor apartment. He unlocks the door and pushes inside in front of me.
Not much about the five-hundred-and-eighty-square-foot space has changed since the last time I was here. It still smells like tropical air freshener mixed with wood rot, and the single window still lets in very little sunlight.
“What the hell happened, Jordan?”
I stand in the living room and note the takeout food containers on the coffee table and the layer of dust on the television screen. “Where to start…”
He sighs heavily and drops to the couch. “How about at the part where you left camp and never came back?”
I sit at our dining table, which is really an iron patio table for two that we got at a garage sale last year. “I got lost, slipped and fell off a ridge, dislocated my shoulder, cracked my head pretty good….” I touch the red mark hidden beneath my hair. “Broke a couple ribs.”
“Jesus…” He breathes. “It was so cold. We looked everywhere for you.”
I tilt my head. “Clearly not everywhere.”
He reels back. “Wait, you don’t blame us for not finding you, do you?”
I sigh and shake my head. “No. Of course not.”
“We had to get out before the storm rolled in. We hiked down and went straight to the Forest Ranger’s office and reported you missing. They told us there was nothing they could do until morning, and then the storm put their search on hold.” His face pales. “My God, Jo. The weather. How’d you…” He swallows hard.
“Someone found me. I was in and out of consciousness, cold, and in a lot of pain. Next thing I knew, I was warm and in front of a fire in a small hunting cabin.”
“Oh, thank God.” He falls back onto the couch and rubs his eyes. “They told us no one could survive the storm without shelter. I thought….” He shakes his head.
“Us?”
He sits up and blinks. “What?”
“You said they told us. Who?”
“Me, Darin, and Courtney.” His eyes look at everything but me when he says her name. “I should call them, let them know you’re okay.” He digs his phone out of his pocket.
“Can we wait? It’s been a really long day, and I’d like to get some sleep before having to answer a million questions.”
“Sure, yeah. Whatever you need.” He stares at his feet. “You, uh…” His eyes fill with pity when he looks up at me. “You should know I tried calling your mom. I thought she might want to know—”
“She doesn’t care.”
“I left a message. Never heard back.” He can’t hold my eyes, so he stares at my hands balled up in my lap. His brows pinch together. “Where’s your ring?”
“I lost it.”
“Oh.” I notice he doesn’t rush to say he’ll replace it. His infidelity hangs like a big fat elephant between us. He stands quickly. “Are you hungry? I don’t have much here, but I could run out and grab something.”
“No, I’m okay.” I stand and smile as politely as I can. I need to come up with a plan. Until then, I’ll keep my cards close to my chest.
I slip my coat off as I walk into our small bedroom. The full-sized bed is at least made and the pillows fluffed. A yawn crawls up my throat. These clothes are way too nice to just toss onto my dresser, so I open the closet for a hanger and—what the hell?
“Jo, wait!” Lincoln’s voice comes from the doorway. “Shit… about that.” He sounds a little ashamed and embarrassed.
“You got rid of all my clothes.”
“I… I never thought I’d see you again.”
With a shaky hand, I take an empty hanger and place the jacket on the empty side of the rod.
“You can borrow my clothes.” He rushes to the dresser and pulls out a pair of flannel pajama pants and a T-shirt. “Until you buy some new stuff.”
I glare at him from over my shoulder. “I’d need my wallet for that. Did you get rid of all my things?”
His cheeks flush, and he opens his underwear drawer and pulls out my beat-up brown wallet and my cellphone. “It didn’t seem safe to give these to Goodwill. I was holding on to them until I figured out what to do with them.”
I grab my things and sit on the bed. The phone is dead. I open my wallet and frown. “I always keep fifty dollars cash in my wallet.” My mom was a piece of shit, but she always told me a woman should keep enough cash in her wallet for a meal and a taxi.
“I’ll pay you back.”
“You took my money?”
His face twists with anger. “I thought you were dead.”
“And that makes it okay?” How did I not see this side of him before? A voice in my head whispers that I did and chose to ignore it. “Forget it.” I set my things on the bedside table. “Keep the money.”
“You act like I just drove away from the mountain that day and never thought of you again! I mourned you, Jordan. I was a mess for days—”
My gaze snaps to his. “Days?”
His shoulders deflate as if the wind has been knocked out of him. “Look, we have a lot to catch up on.” He crosses to me and presses a quick, chaste kiss to my forehead. “Get some sleep. We’ll talk later.”
I watch him walk away and close the door behind him. Seconds later, I hear the apartment door open and close.
I plug my phone into a charger, strip out of my clothes, and put on the borrowed clothes he left me. My first thought is of Alexander’s Burberry shirt and how I’d give anything to swaddle myself in it rather than Lincoln’s To Soy or Not to Soy T-shirt.
I pull the blackout curtains shut and slip into bed. The sheets feel clean, and the pillow is soft beneath my cheek. I nuzzle in with a new appreciation for head support. The scent of dryer sheets mixes with another scent. One vaguely familiar. What is it…? I open my eyes when I recognize the aroma. Roses.
Courtney’s shampoo.
The few times I showered at her place, I remember commenting on the overpowering smell.
I throw off the bedding and head into the bathroom. I pull back the shower curtains and there, tucked into the corner, is the rose shampoo and conditioner, along with a lavender loofah and a pink razor.
Any doubt I might have held about their relationship dissolves.
I rip the comforter from the bed and lie down on the couch. Maybe I don’t miss pillows so much after all.