He'll have to break all the rules to keep her, but first she has to break just one and let him in...
It's taken four years, but Anna Fray has finally put the past behind her. Mostly. She fills her days working in a bar and her nights watching bad ro...
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The first thing I did when I woke up was check the lock on the front door.
Then the windows.
Then the back door.
Then the front again.
Old habits, I supposed, although this one was new. Or maybe it wasn't new at all. Maybe it had always been there, buried beneath alcohol and sarcasm and general belligerence, waiting for one more horror show to drag it into the light.
Nightmare watched me from the other end of the hall, half bathed in the light spilling from the lounge, her tail flicking with unimpressed judgement.
"You're right," I muttered, testing the latch lock and turning the key one more time. "Completely normal behaviour."
She chirped.
"Don't start."
The spare room was next.
I had avoided it for days, which meant, naturally, it had grown in my head until it became less of a room, and more of a festering wound with a door handle. It was ridiculous. Nothing had happened in there. Not really. Christopher hadn't dragged me from that room. Olivia hadn't waited in its shadows. No one had died among the boxes of old clothes, broken lamps, and mail I'd sworn I would sort through sometime before the death of the universe.
But the spare key had been in there.
Somewhere.
Buried so deep within the chaos, that even now I couldn't remember where I'd stashed it. But it had been easy to find for Christopher. Maybe Olivia found it before and pointed him in the right direction, or maybe it was just easy to find if you were the kind of person who thought rifling through a woman's home was less of a crime and more of a hobby.
I stood in the doorway, arms crossed, staring at the mess. Strong arms came to loop around my waist, bringing with them that masculine scent that made my whole body stand at attention.
"You don't have to do it today," Atticus said softly behind me.
I didn't twist to look at him. I just enjoyed the feel of his body against mine for a moment longer.
"Yes, I do." I huffed before reaching to kiss his cheek and step out of his safe embrace.
The room smelt faintly of dust and old cardboard. The sort of smell that made me think of lofts, and charity shops, and the homes of people who said things like, "that might come in handy one day," while hoarding seventeen extension leads and an exercise bike last used a decade ago.
I stepped over a piece of artwork propped against the skirting board. I'd bought it from a charity shop and then never bothered to hang it.
With a weary sigh I pulled the first box towards me. Atticus brushed a reassuring hand across my back as he reached for another.
