Strong and Steady

He put a finger over my lips, looked at me in a way that had me swallowing my words. “It’s being taken care of,” he repeated. “Go get some clothes together, and we’ll get out of here.”

I glanced up the steps afraid the guy might still be up there, even though the police had been in the house for the past hour. “Come with me?”

He nodded and followed me upstairs and into my room. I watched him as he took in the bed, the pictures on the wall, my clothes tossed over a chair. None of it interested him as much as the open window, the white curtains moving with the slight breeze. I let him look around as I quickly pulled a few things from my closet. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as he checked out the emergency ladder, pulled it back inside until it was a pile on the floor once again.

Zipping up my small bag, I said, “Ready.” He pulled his head back inside and turned to me.

“You said Boy Scouts?” He was looking down at the pile of rope that had most likely saved my life.

“Chris and the Emergency Preparedness Merit Badge.”

“God bless the Boy Scouts,” Gray said under his breath as he held out his hand. I took it easily, reassured by his warm touch, and he led me back downstairs and outside, locking the door with my keys he picked up off the small table.

“Isn’t Simon your neighbor?” he asked as we went down the steps.

I pointed to Simon’s door, the house dark. “That one. He’s in Dallas for work.”

He glanced up at my bedroom window then led me down the street. We met up with a man in front of Gray's truck, angled illegally into a spot. Gray introduced him. Reed was his name, and by the look of him, a fighter. Gray opened the door for me, jogged around and joined me in the back. “Seat belt,” he murmured as Reed climbed behind the wheel.

I fumbled with the belt, and Gray’s large hand covered mine, helped click it into place. He kept my hand in his the entire way to his apartment, his thumb making small circles. I found the movement reassuring enough for me to relax into the seat, thankful they both remained silent. The adrenaline was wearing off, and I felt wired yet exhausted at the same time.

When Reed pulled into the lot, Gray undid my belt for me and came around to help me out. He grabbed my small bag, and Reed tossed him the keys.

“Besides the door, get the back light fixed,” Gray told Reed, his voice a dark slash in the night. “I want to know where my dad is. Find him.”

“Done,” Reed said with a quick nod.

“Thanks,” I told him, my voice weary. He was doing so much, and it was the middle of the night. He didn't even know me.

Reed gave me a small smile as he nodded and went over to another car, one I assumed was his own.

Gray led me inside and up to his apartment, using his key fob for access, holding my hand. “Does Reed work for you?”

He shrugged. “I’m his trainer. His next fight is coming up in November. When you train a guy, there’s more to it than making him do push-ups and running five miles. It’s a big picture job. How he behaves outside the ring, what he eats, who he hangs with. We’re tight. Really tight. And he lives in one of the apartments on the second floor.”

When the elevator doors opened to Gray’s apartment, the sound of the TV was loud, the lights were on and half-filled glasses were on the coffee table in front of the sofa.

“We were at the PR dinner and came back to talk strategy,” he said as explanation. “We were watching fight films when you called.”

I stood in the entry, unsure of what to do as Gray grabbed the remote, shut off the TV and the lamps, plummeting the space in an orange glow from the streetlights two floors down. Gray came over to me, took my hand and led me down the hallway where I’d ogled him as he stripped off his shirt before showering just a few days ago.

He fl

ipped a switch, and his bedroom filled with a soft yellow light from a lamp beside a king-size bed. We didn’t stop there but crossed the room to a dresser. “I know you brought a bag, but just in case.”

He opened the top drawer and pulled out a T-shirt, then opened another drawer for a pair of boxers, then led me to the bathroom. Finally releasing my hand, he turned on the water for the shower, tested the temperature.

I’d been used to my house and its less-than-modern conveniences—a water heater that only gave enough water for a five-minute shower, avocado-green tile from the seventies, a fridge that didn’t have an automatic ice cube maker and even floral wallpaper from fourth grade on the kitchen walls. I was used to it all, but this… the bathroom was heaven. The shower easily held two although I could see why Gray would want it super-sized since he wasn’t so small himself. With the Jacuzzi tub and the double sinks, this was what a modern, up-to-date bathroom looked like.

Gray eyed me carefully, then placed the clothes on the vanity. “Shower. I’ll be out there.” He angled his head toward the door. “Take your time.”

Closing the door behind him, I stood still as steam filled the room. Realizing I was staring at the heated towel rack for God knows how long, I stripped off my sleepwear and sweatshirt and stepped into the shower, closed the glass door behind me. This wasn’t just a shower, it was a steam shower, the enclosed area warming and the glass fogging. I tested the abilities of Gray’s hot water heater, for I remained beneath the rain shower head and let the sticky sweat of fear wash down the drain. I picked up Gray’s soap and sniffed it, recognized his scent and used it to clean myself. The thought of having his smell on me made me feel safe.

I had no idea how long I was in there, but Gray was waiting, so I dried myself then put on his clothes. His T-shirt hung to mid-thigh, and I had to roll the waist of the boxers over a few times for them to stay up, having them settle low on my hips. I found an unopened toothbrush from the drawer and brushed my teeth then finger combed my wet hair.

Opening the door, the cool air hit me, just as the sight of Gray sitting on the edge of his bed, still in his jeans and shirt. His boots were at the foot of the bed, socks beside. He was on his cell, but when he saw me, he ended the call and tossed the phone onto the bedside table. I saw mine there as well, and he must have taken it out of my bag for me, so I could hear it if it rang. He stood, his gaze raking over me. Although the mirror in the bathroom was too foggy to see what I looked like, I could only imagine. My hair was tangled and wet down my back, his clothes oversized on my body, my face most likely gaunt with exhaustion and fear.

“Better?”