The Alignment (13 page)

At two a.m. I sit straight up and throw the blanket off, the need to know now uncontrollable. I hurry down the basement stairs and yank on the light. I run my index finger along the spines of the books until I find it. I sit on the floor, cross-legged, and open the book in my lap, careful with the old pages. I scan each page until it’s in front of me. My translation is a little rusty, but I figure it out, and when I’m through, I close my eyes. A series of potent feelings pass through me at once. Anger. Dread. Injustice. Exhilaration. Excitement. But the most pervasive, the most resilient, is acceptance. And it’s going to take every ounce of my willpower to deny it.

Chapter 16

Liv

H
e’s brooding again
this morning. This man is the CEO of Mood Swings, Inc. and his product outperforms all competitors. I wonder if I should ask him what he was doing in the basement at two in the morning, but from the look on his face I know it’s not a good time. The return of the scowl brings its earlier absence to my attention. I wonder how long it had been missing.

I hate to admit it but I was lonely yesterday when I woke up and he was already gone. It’s nice to eat breakfast together, even when he’s in a shitty mood. My efforts to lighten him up are only making it worse, but I just can’t help myself.

I start packing myself a lunch. “Do you want me to pack you a lunch?”

“No.”

I do anyway. I try not to smile at the venom crammed in that one simple word. I should go by the grocery store on my way home tonight. I feel like I need to contribute more food to the house since I’ve been eating here so long, though I doubt that’s expected of a hostage. I hand his lunch to him as he starts to leave the room. He pauses, not looking at me. I stare up into his face. It’s hard for me to be demanding since he’s so much taller than me.

“My feelings will be hurt if you don’t take it.”

He looks at me, his jaw tense. My smile is involuntary. He jerks the bag out of my hand and storms out the front door.

I gather my things and go out to my car. Two deer standing in the driveway make little effort to move out of my way. The rain has stopped, but everything still looks soggy and wet, and my car cuts through patches of fog all the way into town.

“Did he ask you out?” is the first thing out of Rachel’s mouth when she sees me come in the door.

“No, but I had a really hard time getting away from him.” I don’t know what it’s going to take to get the medical supplies delivery man to leave me alone. He’s good-looking and hilarious and could very easily be my type—and I’m of course not interested. Yesterday when I turned him down he didn’t
seem discouraged in the least. He’ll probably try to ask me again today. The truth would conveniently send him running, but I left it at the state line. And that’s where it’s staying.

I take a few easy patients before my first real emergency here turns the whole clinic into organized chaos. Paramedics bring in a man who got his leg caught in an auger. His friend stands by, clutching a camouflage cap in his hands, looking like he’s about to faint.

“Can you take him to a room to lie down?” I ask Rachel and point to the friend. We don’t need a second emergency on our hands.

She drags him away, and I remove the patient’s clothing. Dr. Wu comes in dressed for surgery. We lift the patient onto the operating table and the paramedics take their stretcher away. It looks like someone dumped an entire bucket of red paint on it. Figuring Dr. Wu has enough assistants, I start to leave but he calls me back in, telling me to scrub up for surgery. I’m flattered yet horrified. I don’t know my way around the OR, and from the sideways glances I’m getting from the other two nurses, I doubt they’ll be very forgiving.

The surgery takes about an hour. Afterward, I take the patient to his room and get him comfortable. He’s still asleep. I can’t help but be reminded of caring for Trey when he was unconscious. Rachel brings me a fresh pair of scrubs.

I eat a late lunch in the break room by myself, wondering if Trey ate the lunch I packed or tossed it and got something else. Although he’s unapologetically rude and unreasonably stubborn, I can’t envision him wasting food. The rest of the uneventful day settles into a routine. As I’m gathering my things to leave, Dr. Wu finds me.

“Liv, I wanted to tell you that you’re an asset here. I know this isn’t much, just a small thank you for your great work.”

He hands me an envelope and steps away before I can thank him. No reprimand for walking into the wrong exam room the other day and now this? They must be more desperate for help than I thought. Inside the envelope is a gift certificate for a dinner for two at one of the restaurants in town. I wonder if I could use it on a dinner for one, twice.

Walking to my car, I can already spot the delivery man by his bright red hair. He’s leaning against my car, waiting for me.

“Hi, Shawn.”

“Liv.” He gives me a slow, playful wink. He just doesn’t take no for an answer.

I stop in front of him. His hair is cropped short, and his blue eyes sparkle. “You got a haircut,” I point out.

“Yep.” He smiles and throws his arm around me. “Surprised you noticed.”

“Shawn…I have some errands to run. I need to get going.”

“Skip the errands. Let’s have dinner. Come on. Nothing formal. I just don’t feel like cooking tonight.”

I realize I don’t either, and I’m sure I’ll beat my roommate home again. The gift certificate Dr. Wu gave me must be alive for all the whispering it’s doing in my ear. Eating at a restaurant by myself is always so lonely. At least I could have someone with me.

“It might be your lucky day. I have this gift certificate…” I dig it out of my pocket and show it to him.

“Perfect. That place is real casual. We can go as we are.” He’s thrilled, with no attempt to hide it.

“But we’re going as friends. Just because neither one of us wants to cook.”

“Yeah yeah…”

“Shawn, I’m serious. I am not dating right now.”

“Got it. I’ll drive.”

“No, we’ll both drive. I’ll follow you.” I get in my car before he can complain.

The neighborhood pub is more crowded than I’d expect for a weeknight. A jovial mob lines the bar, and several families with children fill the booths nearest the door. My mood lifts as soon as we take our seats. This is going to be so good for me. Maybe I should be dating.

Shawn’s sense of humor has me laughing before I have a chance to realize I’m having fun. He persuades me to order a beer, and we split an appetizer. He orders two more beers when our meals come. I ask the waiter for water instead, but Shawn interrupts, swearing he’ll drink mine for me. But of course when it comes, I drink it without thinking twice.

Our light conversation makes no threat of getting anywhere near my new secrets or the old ones. Two friends of his join us from the bar, and I find myself laughing harder than I have in a long time.

When the bill comes, Shawn insists on paying. The waiter takes Shawn’s cash and won’t accept my gift certificate. He tells me to “save it for next time” and high-fives Shawn as he walks away. It’s hard for me to be mad though, after two beers and so much unexpected fun.

The cold, wet air outside turns my high mood giddy and far too accepting of Shawn’s warm arm around me. My teeth chatter but I can’t stop smiling. Fog hangs heavy, dulling the street lights.

At my car, Shawn gives me a bear hug. My feet briefly leave the ground. I unlock my door, he opens it, and I slide behind the wheel. Before he shuts the door, he leans in and says, “Next time I’m kissing you. Drive carefully.”

I have to stop myself from poking him in the ribs. It would be funny, but he’d think it meant more than it did.

It’s late when I get to Trey’s. His truck is already parked in its spot. I drop my bag at the door and head to the kitchen toward the only light. He’s sitting at the table in wet, dirty clothes, eating out of the cookie dough ice cream carton.

When he sees me he slams his spoon onto the table. “What the
fuck
.”

“Hello to you too.”

“I thought I was going to have to start looking for pieces of your body.”

“Sorry. I went out.”

He exhales loudly. I can’t help but smile at him. I’m in too good a mood.

“Have a good time?” It’s too sarcastic to deserve an answer, but the look on his face doesn’t match. His expression is too mixed, like he can’t quite decide something.

“Awesome time. Too bad you didn’t come, it would have been good for you. Actually, I was going to use this gift certificate but Shawn insisted on paying. So if you want to join in next time we could both go free.” I drop the gift certificate on the table next to him.

That mixed expression hardens. His eyes blaze. “Shawn?”

“Yes. Shawn…hmm. I don’t know his last name.” I slip out of my jacket and hang it over the back of the chair next to him. I catch his eyes running the length of me when I return my attention to his face.

“You went out with some guy and you don’t even know his last name?”

“Oh please. I see him at work every day.”

He grunts, staring into the ice cream carton. I get a mental image of a bear holding a big jar of honey and stifle a laugh. I think I may still have a little beer in me. He looks up at me as if I spoke.

“Care to share?” I ask.

I’m not trying to flirt with him, but it’s impossible to curb it before it happens. I seem to have very little control over my increasing desire for him. I take a spoon out of the drawer and pull the chair closer to him. He looks at the chair like it’s going to attack. I sit, holding my spoon straight up in the air. He pushes the carton toward me.

“I’d never take you for someone with a sweet tooth.” I dig in. It’s partially melted, just how I like it. I stick a spoonful into my mouth and notice he’s staring at me. “What?” I ask around the spoon.

He scoots his chair back, stretches his legs out under the table, and folds his arms across his chest. There’s a smudge of dirt across his cheekbone like he rubbed it with a grimy hand. And that scar running into his upper lip. How can something like that be so sexy on a man when it would be so unbecoming on a woman? I touch the scar on his bicep out of reflex. He eyes me warily.

“How are the other wounds? Can I check them?” I might be pushing it.

“No. They’re fine.” He focuses on something below my face.

I duck into his line of sight. “What did you do today, roll around in the dirt?”

The corner of his mouth turns up in the slightest way. I’m wearing him down.

“Roofing.”

“Sounds exciting.”

“It was.” He holds my eye.

“So are you going to take me out to dinner?” I don’t know why I’m flirting. It just keeps happening, ignorant of good sense.

“With your gift certificate?” He looks away, but he can’t hide his sudden amusement.

“Hell yeah. I swear I won’t tell anyone.” I put my elbow on the table, put my chin in my hand, and smile at him alluringly. There is something so gratifying about playing with him sometimes. A danger smolders deep inside me, walled behind the brightness of my mood and my undeniable attraction to him.

His eyes lock with mine. He swallows.

A loud howl sounds outside. He sits up straight in his chair. Another howl and he’s charging down the basement stairs, and before I have a chance to question him he’s back and putting a gun in my hand.

“Shoot anyone who tries to come in here.”

My spoon rattles onto the table. I need to tell him I hate guns, that I don’t know how to shoot a gun, that I won’t, but all I do is sit and stare at the heavy, ominous object in my hands. He’s long gone anyway.

The doorbell rings. I stand. I’m afraid to put the gun down, but afraid to hold it. And what is it he told me once about the doorbell? I’m usually so calm in emergency situations, but this gun is clouding my thought process. If this is an emergency. I don’t know what is going on.

And then I remember.
If you hear a doorbell, you need to hide.

Should I hide? Does holding a gun nullify the need to hide? I put the gun on the table and sit back down on the edge of the chair.

The front door opens. A flood of adrenaline propels me from the chair.

“Liv, it’s just me. Don’t shoot.”

I exhale.

Trey enters the room carrying a long straight sword. Blood drips from his lip, staining his chin glossy red.

“Are you kidding me?” is all I can say.

“Everything’s fine. And check out this sword I scored!”

I clamp my mouth shut. He’s like a child on Christmas morning. Now I understand the source of all the weapons in the basement. They’re his war bounty. He rips a paper towel off the roll and wipes blood off the blade, apparently oblivious to his own blood dripping down his chin and onto his shirt.

“Do you even know you’re bleeding?”

“I am?” He reaches up to touch his mouth. “Crap.”

“Just sit down.” I pull his hand and he willingly sits, dropping the sword on the table with a metallic clang. He is still breathing hard.

“
Oderint dum metuant
,” he says to the sword.

It sounds like Latin. I wait, expecting a translation.

He notices my silence. “This one thought he’d mouth off before I took him down.”

Chills scatter up my back. “Who was it?”

He watches me but doesn’t answer. He doesn’t mind I know he kills people, but he can’t tell me who they are?

I change my approach. “What did he say?”

He turns away, laughing under his breath. Dismissing my question. “They’re getting out of control. It’s never been this frequent. I’ll need to be more alert.”

“More alert?” I laugh. I can’t help it. I manically grasp for anything to distract me from the sword next to us on the table. From whoever’s blood has soaked the paper towel he dropped in the sink. The injured, possibly dead person outside. The person I’m not helping. The phone call I’m not making for an ambulance. “I don’t like guns, by the way. I have no idea what to do with that thing and I have no desire—”

“I’ll have to teach you.” He picks up the gun without looking at it and makes something on it click. He sets it back down. Unconscious movements. He seems a little distracted. Blood strings from his chin to the dark stain on his shirt.

“I’d rather you not.” I catch his filthy hand just before it wipes his mouth. “Don’t. Wait just a second.”

I dampen a clean towel and pull up a chair to face him. Careful not to look in his eyes, I wipe his chin and dab the blood off his lip, already fat and swollen. It’s an atrocity they always have to get him in the face. But I guess any part of his body would be an atrocity—I need to stop thinking about his body. “What languages do you know besides Latin?”

“English.” He keeps a straight face even though he must know he’s being a smartass.