bed. There was a small pile of clothes on top of a dresser that looked like they might be clean, and she pulled on a black T-shirt that, judging from its size, must belong to Sam.
It wasn’t clean. She pulled it over her head and was immediately cloaked in a thick, masculine odor. Angel breathed it in as the shirt slid over her body, and she shivered as goose bumps skittered up her arms. Sam’s scent wrapped around her, chasing away the chill in the air. She hugged the shirt to her body, thinking of her bare skin touching where his once had.
Brody was breathing deeply, apparently asleep, and she crept out the door to go and use the bathroom.
Angel stopped in the living room to glance at Sam; he appeared terribly uncomfortable lying on the sofa. He was much too big of a man to sleep there without looking awkward. One thick arm was thrown up over his face, covering his eyes.
The main room was sparsely furnished. A huge piano seemed out of place near the shabby couch. Despite the thick layer of dust that covered it, the piano was beautiful. Sam’s large hands didn’t seem suited to playing. It must belong to Brody, although it was hard to imagine those shaky fingers on the keys.
Angel walked to the bathroom as quietly as she could, keeping her gaze on Sam. She didn’t want to wake him.
The tile floor of the dingy bathroom was icy cold, and she lowered herself gingerly onto the toilet. She stared down at the stained grout, counting missing tiles, doing whatever she could to take her mind off what she had to do. It was a hell of a thing to be scared to pee. Finally she managed to get started and was immediately sorry she had. The pain was searing and immediate, like alcohol being poured into an open wound. She cut the flow off and took a deep breath, rocking back and forth. Bad as she had to pee now, she wasn’t going to be able to hold it for long. Squeezing her eyes closed tight, she let it go, gripping the rim of the nearby sink until the worst of the pain passed.
Angel wiped carefully, mostly patting. She was sore, but she’d survive.
She had to leave here today. She thought about Brody’s offer to stay, and she wasn’t sure if it was for real or not. If it was, would she? Maybe for a while, if it was okay with Sam too. She wouldn’t want to see him sleeping on the couch though, and she had a feeling he wouldn’t put up with that very long anyway, and why should he? This was his home—his and Brody’s. She was the outsider here.
Even if she could stay, she still had to leave—at least to get her money and her clothes. What was she going to wear outside? No shoes, no pants, no coat…
Angel thought of Sam buying her a coat. It was sweet. It didn’t matter if it was the ugliest coat in the world; she would cherish it. For several moments she tried to remember the last time she had received a present. Christmas, maybe? It was many years ago. Angel tried to remember what year it was or what the gift had been, but she’d been a child then.
So many things had happened since that it hardly seemed a real memory, as if the chubby girl in the red velvet holiday dresses never existed. But she had. She’d existed and she’d suffered, and she’d learned to keep her mouth shut about everything and just endure. Only a tiny seed of hate grew in that girl. Angel had been weak then. It was only when that hatred grew into a weed that Angel had become strong. Hatred had given her strength.
She would have never left home had it not been for that hatred. That hatred of Paul had forced her to become who she was. The shy little girl would have preferred to exist quietly, working a job where she didn’t have to deal with people much. She’d once dreamed of a career caring for animals. Life, apparently, had a cruel sense of humor.
She stood up and hugged the shirt around her. Sam’s shirt, warm against her skin, the pleasant, comforting scent of him like an embrace. He smelled good, and it wasn’t cologne, it was
It wasn’t clean. She pulled it over her head and was immediately cloaked in a thick, masculine odor. Angel breathed it in as the shirt slid over her body, and she shivered as goose bumps skittered up her arms. Sam’s scent wrapped around her, chasing away the chill in the air. She hugged the shirt to her body, thinking of her bare skin touching where his once had.
Brody was breathing deeply, apparently asleep, and she crept out the door to go and use the bathroom.
Angel stopped in the living room to glance at Sam; he appeared terribly uncomfortable lying on the sofa. He was much too big of a man to sleep there without looking awkward. One thick arm was thrown up over his face, covering his eyes.
The main room was sparsely furnished. A huge piano seemed out of place near the shabby couch. Despite the thick layer of dust that covered it, the piano was beautiful. Sam’s large hands didn’t seem suited to playing. It must belong to Brody, although it was hard to imagine those shaky fingers on the keys.
Angel walked to the bathroom as quietly as she could, keeping her gaze on Sam. She didn’t want to wake him.
The tile floor of the dingy bathroom was icy cold, and she lowered herself gingerly onto the toilet. She stared down at the stained grout, counting missing tiles, doing whatever she could to take her mind off what she had to do. It was a hell of a thing to be scared to pee. Finally she managed to get started and was immediately sorry she had. The pain was searing and immediate, like alcohol being poured into an open wound. She cut the flow off and took a deep breath, rocking back and forth. Bad as she had to pee now, she wasn’t going to be able to hold it for long. Squeezing her eyes closed tight, she let it go, gripping the rim of the nearby sink until the worst of the pain passed.
Angel wiped carefully, mostly patting. She was sore, but she’d survive.
She had to leave here today. She thought about Brody’s offer to stay, and she wasn’t sure if it was for real or not. If it was, would she? Maybe for a while, if it was okay with Sam too. She wouldn’t want to see him sleeping on the couch though, and she had a feeling he wouldn’t put up with that very long anyway, and why should he? This was his home—his and Brody’s. She was the outsider here.
Even if she could stay, she still had to leave—at least to get her money and her clothes. What was she going to wear outside? No shoes, no pants, no coat…
Angel thought of Sam buying her a coat. It was sweet. It didn’t matter if it was the ugliest coat in the world; she would cherish it. For several moments she tried to remember the last time she had received a present. Christmas, maybe? It was many years ago. Angel tried to remember what year it was or what the gift had been, but she’d been a child then.
So many things had happened since that it hardly seemed a real memory, as if the chubby girl in the red velvet holiday dresses never existed. But she had. She’d existed and she’d suffered, and she’d learned to keep her mouth shut about everything and just endure. Only a tiny seed of hate grew in that girl. Angel had been weak then. It was only when that hatred grew into a weed that Angel had become strong. Hatred had given her strength.
She would have never left home had it not been for that hatred. That hatred of Paul had forced her to become who she was. The shy little girl would have preferred to exist quietly, working a job where she didn’t have to deal with people much. She’d once dreamed of a career caring for animals. Life, apparently, had a cruel sense of humor.
She stood up and hugged the shirt around her. Sam’s shirt, warm against her skin, the pleasant, comforting scent of him like an embrace. He smelled good, and it wasn’t cologne, it was
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