“Nothing. Um, can you give me a hand in here?” I nod and follow him into his bedroom and back toward his closet.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“We need to get that,” he says, pointing to a small safe, “into your car. If we can’t do it today, I’ll just get some of the guys to give me a hand another time.”
The black box is deceptively small, but I know that the thing must weigh a ton.
“We can try,” I say, feeling skeptical. Sylas grabs one end of the safe and I go for the other and we count to three and lift. It raises about three inches off the floor and that’s as far as we get.
“No way,” I say, setting my end back down. If I try to do any more, I’m going to tear or break something. Sylas sighs and sets his end down.
“Why don’t we empty it and then try again?” I ask. He does the combination of the safe and I look away to give him some privacy.
He pulls a few things out and then shuts the safe again. He sets the things on the bed and then we try again. No dice.
“If you want, we can stop and get another one, if you feel like you need it.” All of my secure stuff is at my dad’s house. He’d definitely have an extra one or two hanging around.
There’s no way in hell I’m calling him though.
Sylas gathers up the rest of his things and puts them in a duffel bag.
“Were you serious about the coffee table?” he asks.
“Totally. I want you to feel at home at my place. Our place, I guess.” The apartment is definitely decorated 99 percent me and 1 percent Sylas at the moment.
“But you’re a much better decorator than I am,” he says, giving me a kiss on the cheek.
“That may be true, but I still want it to look like our apartment instead of just mine.” We haven’t discussed how rent or utilities are going to work yet, but we’re definitely doing this and I can’t help but feel giddy.
Commitment has always somewhat terrified me. I never thought I would want the kind of relationship I’m in right now.
“Let’s take this stuff down and then we can come back for the coffee table,” he says. I know the table will fit in the BMW since I’ve seen it crammed in before. That was so long ago. Feels like another lifetime.
The car is full when we go back to my place. Unloading the car seems to take a lot longer than putting the stuff in and by the time we’re done and his coffee table has taken its rightful place, I’m sweaty and exhausted.
I flop on the couch and Sylas joins me.
“I can’t believe we’re living together,” he says, putting his arm around my shoulder and lacing our fingers together.
“I know. I had no idea we’d be here, but I knew when I met you that you were going to change my life.” I turn my head and rest it against his chest.
“I knew, too. I remember seeing a picture of you Cash had given me. Your hair was all over your face and you were laughing. Your dress was black with little skulls all over it. I kept telling myself it was just a physical reaction. You were just another beautiful woman. It was so much more than that, though, Saige.” I know exactly what he means.
“I want to show you something,” he says and then motions for me to let him up. I move and he goes to get the duffel full of items he took out of the safe. He rifles around until he pulls something out.
“This was one of the only things that I was able to save from the house during the fire. Except for the coffee table, but I went back and got that later,” he says, holding the album on his lap. I scoot over and he opens it.
“Oh, Sylas.” The album is filled with pictures from his childhood. Birthdays and summers outside and school pictures. He’s in a ton of them, but then so is his mother. She really was a beauty. I’ve only seen the few pictures Dad was able to save.
He turns the pages and I drink in all the snapshots of his life before his mother died. There he is, missing teeth and grinning as he opens a Christmas present. And again playing t-ball in a blue uniform.
I stop when I get to one of his mother. She’s wearing an apron with little blue flowers on it as she looks up from a cake she’s frosting. It looks like one of the cakes from Sylas’ birthday. Her face is radiant with a smile, the sun streaming in from the window behind her, lighting her up.
“She’s so beautiful,” I say, but that’s such an understatement.
“I know. Too beautiful for this world. She was too good.” I don’t know about that, but it’s a crime that her life was severed by the one man who was supposed to protect her, take care of her.
I’m about to turn the page of the album when I notice something. The floor of the kitchen looks familiar, but I can’t place it. Huh. I discard the feeling and turn the page of the album, but something in the back of my mind flickers and itches. I don’t know what to do to scratch it.
“What is it?” Sylas notices my discomfort somehow. He really must be able to read my mind. Or I’m just not very good at hiding my expressions anymore. Out of practice.
“Nothing. I’m just sad for you,” I say. “That she was taken from you, taken from Lizzy.” He sighs.
“There’s nothing we can do about it now and the person responsible is dead. That’s the best we can do.” I suppose it is. The picture is still bothering me, but I keep going through the album until I get to the end. There are tears in my eyes and they finally spill over. I wipe them away and Sylas lays the album aside.
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to cry.”
“It’s okay, Saige. I wish I could cry. It’s normal to cry. But I can’t.” I’ve seen him cry before, but only when he’s at his emotional breaking point.
“I can’t seem to stop crying,” I say. I never thought of myself as all that emotional, but maybe it’s because I bottled everything up for so many years and it’s all getting squeezed out of me now.
“I love you anyway,” he says, tickling me in my ribs and turning the serious moment into something much lighter.
“Stop it,” I say, collapsing as he attacks me. The assault ceases and he smiles down at me.
“Thank you for letting me share that with you. I’ve never shown anyone those pictures,” he says. I reach up and stroke his stubbly face.
“Thank you for trusting me with them,” I say.
I love him. I love him so much I can’t even comprehend it. Can’t hold it in my hands. It would spill over my fingers. So much. Too much.
“How about I make dinner for a change?” he says. Neither of us are very good cooks, but we do our best.
“Sounds good.” It get a kiss on my nose before he climbs off me and heads to the kitchen.
I pick up the album and go back to the page with the picture of his mother. I stare at it, but I can’t figure out what is sparking something in my mind. It’s going to bother me until I can figure it out, but then there’s a crash in the kitchen and I have to go rescue Sylas from a frying pan with nefarious intentions.
Twenty-Five
This time when I wake from the nightmare, I know.
“I was there,” I gasp into Sylas as he holds me. The nightmares don’t always strike at the same time, but he’s always there with me when my eyes snap open.
“You were where, Saige?” he says in a soothing voice.
“The floor. The floor in the picture.” I can’t get the words coming from my mouth to come out right and explain what’s going on in my head. Everything is happening too fast, the images and thoughts bursting like too many fireworks.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to talk about it right now,” he says, but I need to make him understand.
“I saw her. I saw her bleeding on the floor, Sylas. Your mother.” His entire body stiffens, his muscles locking up and he’s holding me so tight it hurts.
“You need to tell me what you mean, right now, Saige.” His voice has a dangerous edge to it, but there’s nothing I can do about it.
“I was there when she was killed. At least after. I can see it all now. Her body on the ground, the blood everywhere. I was outside in the rosebushes under the kitchen window.” He makes a sound that doesn’t seem human.