Rebound Roommate by Jules Barnard

Author:Jules Barnard [Barnard, Jules]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Jules Barnard

Chapter Eighteen

I arrive home expecting to see Mira, but even though her truck is in the driveway, the house appears dark and lifeless.

Why wouldn’t she be here if her truck is here? Did she go somewhere with Lewis?

I kick off my shoes by the front door, and that’s when I sense it. Her presence.

I turn and push on the bedroom door that’s partway open. Mira is sitting on her bed, in her work clothes, staring out the window, her back straight, hands folded in her lap. She doesn’t seem to realize I’m there, though I’ve made enough noise to alert her. She’s completely zoning, which shouldn’t be a big deal. I’d probably walk away and let her be, if it weren’t for that incident in the hallway at Blue this morning. Or the expression on her face. Sadness, despair.

Fuck, she’s killing me. I tug at my T-shirt and look away. Am I really doing this?

Yeah, I guess I am.

I push the door open the rest of the way to give Mira another opportunity to notice me and kick me out, but she doesn’t even blink. I walk over and sit beside her on the bed. Right up next to her so that our thighs touch, because shit, she’s starting to worry me and I’d rather piss her off by crowding her than see that look on her face any longer.

“Mira.”

Her delicate throat rolls in a swallow, her eyes barely flickering my way.

“You okay?”

Her chest deflates and she nods, but I don’t believe her.

I rack my brain for some way to reassure her, because she looks like she could use it. “It’s probably a good thing we saw that guy this morning. Now I know what he looks like in case he ever comes loitering. You could go to the police. It will be easy to get his name and address since he worked at Blue.”

My words don’t seem to help. She pinches her lips like she’s about to cry. Jesus Christ.

I’m no pussy when it comes to women’s tears. I grew up the only male in a two-woman household. I’ve seen PMS tears, angry tears, and manipulative tears (Cali in all her glory). That shit does not faze me. And I’ve accumulated smooth words over the years to deal with the female waterworks. But right now, the despair Mira’s throwing off is enough to break me.

I do the only thing I can think of to make both of us feel better. I reach around her shoulders and draw her to my chest. Her face rests against my T-shirt, and that’s when the dam breaks.

Mira is a quiet crier. Little squeaks here and there, her back rising in delicate hiccups. The way she’s crying—as if she’s used to hiding it—has me doing something I never could have envisioned a few weeks ago.

I wrap my arms around her and press my lips to the top of her head. I lift her face and wipe tears from the smooth curves of her cheekbones. “Shhh, it’s okay.

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