Strong Enough

He shut the door behind him, and I went over to the bed, sat next to the clothing he’d brought me, and placed one hand on the top of the pile.

I told myself he was this kind to everyone.

I told myself I wasn’t special—I was just a favor to his sister.

I told myself I’d only imagined the tension between us downstairs in the dark.

But I wished I hadn’t.

Seven

DEREK

I closed the guest room door behind me and stood still for a moment, my hand still on the knob. Had I thought of everything? Was there anything else he would need? I’d told him about the towels, right? Maybe he’d like an extra blanket? Some deodorant? A razor?

What the hell are you doing? Leave him alone already.

I yanked my hand off the knob as if it had burned me and went downstairs. After locking the back door and setting the alarm, I walked through the shadowy kitchen and noticed his notebook on the counter, right next to his phone. I picked it up, fighting the urge to look inside it. What was it, a journal or something? Or a screenplay? Curiosity about him battled with my conscience.

Put it down, asshole. Whatever it is, it’s private.

I set it on the counter again, but I couldn’t stop looking at it. Maybe he’d want it upstairs. And what about his phone? He’d need that up there, wouldn’t he?

Stop it. He’s probably asleep already.

I could knock softly.

You could let it go until morning.

But he might want to call his friend again tonight.

That’s an excuse and you know it.

It was. And I did.

Frowning, I stood there for a few minutes with one hand on his phone. The truth was, I was drawn to him, and it wasn’t only his looks. It was his warmth and optimism. His manners. His gratitude. He struck me as someone who didn’t take things for granted like a lot of Americans do. And I liked the way he’d come here determined to change his life, leaving everything and everyone he knew behind. Not because he felt entitled to something better, but because he had a dream and he was willing to work for it. He was almost like someone from another era—part of a generation of immigrants that had come here and built this country into what it was today. They might not have had a lot of resources, but they had backbone. Fortitude. Grit.

And okay, fine—I liked that he’d taken his shoes off without my having to ask.

But I was worried for him too. How was he going to get by? Did he at least have some money saved? Where would he live? How was he going to eat? I felt protective of him somehow, almost like since I’d come to his rescue, now I was responsible for making sure he’d be okay here.

Don’t be fucking ridiculous. He’s twenty-four, not twelve. He doesn’t need you. Plus, he has a friend here already.

But look how he’d let Maxim down today. How responsible could he be? And Maxim didn’t know anyone else here, so maybe he’d need someone like me to help him out. At least until he met new friends.

Not that it would take long. He’d probably have a girlfriend soon, too. Of course he would. A gorgeous young blonde with huge blue eyes like his. Curves for days. Legs a mile long. They’d fall in love fast and get married right away, which would solve his immigration problem, but no one would ever think he’d married her just so he could stay—it would be obvious how crazy they were about each other. They’d be fucking perfect together. His dream life would be a reality. Cue the fucking sunset.

I was irrationally angry about it all.

But that meant it really didn’t matter if I wanted a couple more minutes talking to him tonight, did it? After all, once he left tomorrow, I’d probably never see him again. This would be it.

I unplugged the charger from the outlet.

A minute later, I was standing in the upstairs hallway outside the closed bathroom door, listening to the shower running. What I should have done was leave his things in the guest room where he’d find them and go the fuck to bed. But I didn’t. Instead I stood there like a fucking creeper, imagining him naked underneath the spray.

Stop it right there. Not okay.

The water went off, but I still didn’t leave. I pictured him drying off with one of my towels, hanging it up (yes, in my fantasies, everyone hangs up their towels), and pulling on my clothes. I’d had some underwear still in the package as well as a couple new pairs of socks, so I’d given those to him, as well as a pair of athletic pants, a clean T-shirt, and a hoodie. I’d never loaned another guy my clothes before.