The shower was running in the bathroom. Knowing he was in there, naked and soaped up, running his hands up that wide defined chest, had me once again fully alert. But then I pictured him shirtless and stretched out on his back on the dock, waiting for me to kiss him awake. And then I imagined him in the gazebo, grinning as he greeted my breasts. In the backseat of my car, making me a woman.
My heart ached, and more tears filled my eyes as I mourned the loss of that boy. I questioned this whole ridiculous roommate situation for about the millionth time. I knew I was just torturing myself as much as I knew I wasn’t going to do anything about it. I was grasping at ghosts, and it was probably the stupidest mistake of my life, but I couldn’t seem to stop. I had to be close to him, even though he was a complete stranger to me now.
But he’d agreed to this living arrangement first, and I hadn’t been able to end the hope that maybe my Knox could still return.
I didn’t realize I had stewed in my depression for so long, until I heard the bathroom door open. Again, I held my breath and focused on nothing but his footsteps as he made his way into the kitchen.
I kind of dreaded facing him, afraid I’d burst into tears if I did. But then I felt crappy too because I’d been nothing but a chicken these past few days, just hiding out.
We couldn’t avoid each other forever, though. If we were really going to be roommates and make this work, we’d have to learn to communicate.
Pulling on the metaphorical big girl panties, I whipped off the covers and crawled out of bed. When I shuffled into the kitchen, barefoot and yawning, Knox whirled from the toaster to gape at me. I jerked to a halt, not expecting to find him shirtless and in nothing but a pair of low-slung blue jeans. He’d wrapped his bath towel around his neck and the terrycloth covered some of his chest, but it definitely didn’t conceal how utterly ripped he was.
Holy...
Wow, he looked good these days. Even better than eighteen-year-old Knox.
My jaw sagged. I think there were muscles sprouting from his muscles. And scars. I barely noticed them at first. But a white slash marred his ribcage while the one higher on the right side of his chest, almost to his shoulder, looked more like a healed puncture wound. I had to swallow, wondering how the hell he’d gotten so many scars. For some reason, I’d foolishly thought the one on his face was the only one he’d gotten in the past six years. But what if he had even more, more I couldn’t see?
What if—
Gah, I had to stop driving myself crazy with all these thoughts. He obviously wasn’t going to open up to me and share a single detail about his imprisonment, so I should just stop thinking about it.
Good mantra. Not that it worked. The curiosity killed me, but at least I tried to play it off. Offering him a wave and hopefully what looked like a cheerful smile, I greeted, “Good morning,” as I swept toward the coffee machine.
I kept my back to him as I gathered my supplies. Finally, he went back to fixing his own breakfast, and I heard him pull his bread from the toaster and slather on some butter and jelly. Meanwhile, I managed to keep myself busy until my coffee was ready.
Once I had a fortifying mugful in hand, I finally turned around. He hadn’t moved to the table to sit. He leaned against the counter on the other side of the kitchen as he chewed his toast and watched me with a leery squint.
Since he didn’t sit, I didn’t feel as if I could either, so I leaned against my counter as well, and took a big gulp. My steamy brew didn’t fill me with the courage I’d hoped it would, but I acted as if it had, anyway, and let out a refreshed sigh.
“You were up early,” I said.
Knox nodded but didn’t tell me where he’d gone, which kind of stung. He couldn’t even open up enough to tell me he’d only been working out. I hated that.
Once upon a time, we’d told each other everything, from banal to important. We’d always been so open and honest with each other. I think I missed just sharing my life with him most of all.