“Once we alert the police that you’re not a missing person and there's a restraining order against him, there's nothing he can do. You need to take away his power. He won’t fucking like it, but too goddamn bad. I'll hire security for the front door and make sure they have his face memorized.”
My emotions begin to boil over, so I stuff another forkful of food in my mouth before I release them. Easton only knows me on a surface level, and here he is, ready to fight my battles and call in backup. For the first time, I trust someone who isn't my blood.
“I can't even begin to express how thankful I am. You have no reason to help me, yet you are.” I meet his eyes, sincerely grateful to have him in my corner.
“It's because you're not used to people being nice without a motive.” He gives me a wink that does more to my body than I'm willing to admit.
But he's right. The only time Justin was kind to me was in public, and even then, I knew as soon as we were behind closed doors, the mask would come off. He’d scream at me because I didn't smile enough. I wasn't social enough. I was staring at another man. Whatever bullshit excuse he could come up with to justify his actions toward me.
“My only requirement is that you continue making me the good coffee. Preferably with cinnamon and sprinkles.”
I wipe my cheeks of the few tears that slipped out and smile at his dopey confession. “Alright, deal.”
After we clear our plates, we watch one more episode of Manifest before Easton calls it a night. I think he sensed I was falling asleep and didn't want to be rude by making me stay up longer. Though I appreciate his thoughtfulness, I only closed my eyes because I felt safe with him. Otherwise, I sleep with one eye open.
“Thank you again,” I say as I walk him to the door, carrying George's cage and handing it to him.
“I got Aubree to cover your shift tomorrow, and Nova will work the following day. Call your lawyer when you wake up and let him know what's going on. After I open and get the admin stuff done, I'll drive you to the courthouse.”
I nod. “Will do.”
Easton's always supported his employees if they need anything, and for being a younger guy, he has a good head on his shoulders. He's driven, and I've always liked that about him.
“Night, Sir George,” I say, wiggling my finger between the bars. “Sweet dreams.”
“Did you just tell a hamster—? You know what, never mind.” Easton chuckles in pure amusement. “Good night, Tatum. Text or call me if you need anything. My phone's always on.”
“I will,” I reassured him.
As I begin to close the door, he quickly adds, “And lock this door. Don't answer it without checking who it is first.”
“Oh my God, you're sounding like my father now.” I roll my eyes. “My doors are always deadbolted, and I never open it before looking.”
“Okay. Good. Just making sure.”
“Night, Easton. Hope you have sweet dreams too,” I playfully add.
“Now, I just feel like you're saying that to appease me.” The corner of his lips tilts up, and I resist the urge to say more.
“Bye!” I flash him a smile, then shut the door. Once I’ve triple-checked the lock, I turn off the kitchen lights. Next, I check my windows even though I never open them.
Once I'm positive everything is sealed tight, I get ready for bed. My head is spinning out of control, and I'm not sure I'll be able to get any sleep with everything that’s on my mind.
After an hour of tossing and turning, I take a melatonin with some chocolate milk. My lips curve into a knowing grin at the thought of Easton adding ice.
Finally, my body relaxes, and sleep takes over.
I jolt up in bed as a piercing alarm rings throughout my apartment. I quickly discover it’s the smoke detectors.
But this time, it’s not Easton’s going off. It’s mine blaring. Then I smell smoke.
“Oh my God...”
I rush out of the room and flick on a couple of lights. There’s heat coming from the floor.
“Easton!”
He took the batteries out of his, and I’m not sure if he replaced them before going to bed last night.
As I whip open my door, I notice the smell is stronger in the hallway. I bang on his door with my fists, shouting out his name and rattling the doorknob.
After no response, I bang harder and scream louder.
“Easton! Get up! There’s a fire!”
Is it possible he already got out? Did he leave without me?
No. He’d never.
But either he sleeps like the literal dead or he’s not inside.
I pull my shirt over my nose, the smoke making my eyes water, and I run back into my apartment to grab my phone. If his cell is on, it might get his attention.