Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71303 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71303 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
I hitched a shoulder. “It’s not the only copy, and besides, it’s seen better days.”
He shook his head adamantly. “I…I can pay—”
“Don’t burden yourself with it. I can—”
“Maybe there’s a way to save it,” he insisted as the doors opened, and he followed me into the hallway.
“Let’s take a look after we get inside.”
9
LACHLAN
Was I really doing this? The truth was, Foster had been right about the storm.
And I felt awful when I saw that his book had gotten wet from the leak inside my tent. Now I would owe him for that as well as his hospitality, and there was no way I could repay him. Not now. Maybe not ever.
I followed them around the corner to his apartment door, my feet feeling wooden,
like I was moving through a dream. I’d been relieved to find there was no doorman, who would undoubtedly give me a hard time. They were notorious for keeping their entryway free of vagrants like me.
“You seem tense,” Foster said. “About more than the book.”
“It’s just… It’s been a long time.”
“Since?” He brandished the key and fit it in the lock.
I twisted my bracelets. “Since I’ve been in someone’s home.”
Damn, that was tough to admit. But the reality made me breathless. Such a simple thing that felt monumental now.
“How long?”
“Maybe…eight months? Time blurs together after a while. Feels like eight years.”
I had relied on different friends to put me up in the beginning—Clint’s friends. I had lost contact with all of mine from high school long ago. But they’d been torn, especially after seeing my injuries and hearing Clint’s lies about what had gone down.
Then I’d shown up at my childhood home. After my father asked me to leave, I stayed in a hostel until my money ran out. My first night on the street was rough. Heartbroken, I’d cried myself to sleep.
Foster frowned as he opened the door and urged me to step inside. As he removed Oscar’s leash and stored his umbrella, I took in the apartment.
It was clean, a simple open-concept place with a gray couch, large-screen television, and a kitchen island with stools. The apartment I shared with Clint had modern furnishings as well. It’d been almost a year since I even had a place to call home.
But who was I kidding? It had never felt like a true home. Nothing had since my mother had passed, and even before that, it had never felt safe enough.
“Nice place.” It was the polite thing to say, and it was true.
But at this point, a broom closet would feel amazing, which Foster must’ve realized because he looked uncomfortable as he muttered, “Thanks. Let’s get you settled.”
I glanced at my sopping wet clothes, my brain foggy as I stood in this man’s apartment. A tiny part of me still feared that all this was a setup and I might be taken advantage of in some way.
“How about a shower and then something warm to change into?”
Instead of waiting for a reply, he strode down the hall. I stayed back as I listened to him opening and closing a door, and then he appeared with two towels. Warm, fuzzy towels. The ones at the shelter were thin and scratchy.
“You can leave your shoes by the door.” When I didn’t move, Foster sighed. “I’m not trying to… I know it might be hard to trust me, but I’m truly only trying to get you warm and safe, and out of the elements. Only for one night.”
Our eyes met, and all I saw was concern in his. He had always been kind, and in my gut, I knew I could trust him. I’d made the mistake of not listening to my gut before.
Oscar leaned against my legs as if to give me an extra push, and when I reached down, I encountered wet fur. I couldn’t believe he’d run all the way to my tent to find me.
“Good boy,” I said, then slipped out of my shoes.
Relief flitted through Foster’s eyes as he handed me the towels. “While you’re in the shower, I’ll get us dry too.”
“O…kay.” I glanced down the hall, not knowing where to start. What was wrong with me? I certainly knew how to use someone’s bathroom.
“I’ll get you situated.” Foster walked down the hall, and I followed, noting the two bedrooms. The bathroom was roomy enough, with contemporary fixtures. “Feel free to use the shampoo and bodywash and whatever else you want.”
I set the towels on the vanity as he stepped back into the hall. I locked the door behind him with shaky fingers, that same wariness creeping up my throat. There was nothing wrong with being cautious.
I stared at myself in the mirror. Christ, I looked like a man who had survived the Alaskan wilderness or something. My hair and beard were stringy and unkempt, my eyes wild, my torso much thinner than before. It made me wonder why Foster thought he could trust me inside his home, given my disheveled appearance. For all he knew, I would steal something out of desperation and use it to get cash.