Chapter 12
Morgan lifted her eyebrows at Vin.
"It ain't…" He looked uneasy for the first time since she had met him two days earlier. He looked away from her at the plain three story house, white paint mostly peeled off the siding, and a sagging couch on the porch. "It's where I live," he said lamely.
Morgan caught the look of embarrassment, the faint flush of shame creeping up his neck.
"Does my brother live here?" Morgan asked.
Vin's brow furrowed at her non sequitur. "What? No. You know that."
"Then it's perfect," Morgan said.
Truthfully, she was exhausted and anything would be perfect.
Vin shifted his shoulders uncomfortably, but with a frown led her up the porch steps.
"Watch your step," he said, motioning to the uneven second step.
Morgan stepped over it.
Vin opened the door, tense lines bracketing his mouth.
None of the people in the living room greeted Vin when he walked in. One guy glanced up from the television, but looked back at the screen without a word. A woman took a long drag on a cigarette, blowing smoke overhead without a glance at Vin.
"My roommates," Vin muttered, ushering Morgan up the stairs without looking at anyone in the room.
Morgan tried for a smile of greeting, but no one was paying attention to see it.
She followed Vin upstairs, across a second story hallway, and to another flight of stairs.
There was only one room on the third level. Vin pushed the door open with a creak. He hesitated before moving aside and letting Morgan in.
The first thing Morgan noticed was the pictures on the wall. Ripped out from magazines, cut from newspapers, sketches, there were pictures of scenery. Morgan saw mountains, rivers, deserts. Nothing that looked anything like the neighborhood the house was lodged in.
Vin went over to the dresser and dug his wallet and phone out of his pocket, dropping them on the scarred top.
Morgan looked at the bed. A mattress on the floor, covered with a clean, worn blanket.
Morgan sank onto the bed, watching while Vin picked up a couple shirts and put them in a laundry basket. He took the notebook on the floor by the bed and set it on the bookcase with other notebooks.
"It's nice here," she said.
Vin avoided looking at her, going back to the dresser and taking clothes from one drawer, moving them to another. He emptied a second drawer. "You can put your things there once you get 'em."
"Vin," Morgan said.
Vin closed the empty drawer. He heaved a sigh and turned to face Morgan.
"It's nice here. With you," Morgan said.
Vin didn't look like he believed her.
Morgan was sure the house wasn't all that great, but it gave her space from Buck and Chris, somewhere to hide from memories. And Vin was here. He had proved to be someone who wouldn't push her to talk about what had happened. Someone who would be a distraction.
She fought the urge to rub at her skin, scrub away memories of that guy who had grabbed at her. She thought of how gentle Vin was. His hands on her skin with assurance, but never making her uncomfortable.
"What's with the pictures?" she asked. She leaned back on her hands, looking at the largest of the pictures, a poster of a cabin near a lake.
Vin looked at her like he was debating if really wanted to know. Morgan tilted her head, waiting for his answer.
"They're just pictures," he said.
Morgan waited, knowing they must be more than that if it was the only personal touch he had chose to add to his room.
"They're just…" Vin looked over the pictures. "Places."
"Have you been to any of these places?"
Vin sat on the bed next to Morgan, studying the poster. "Not yet."
Morgan saw the loneliness in his eyes as he looked at the cabin. She thought of the people downstairs who didn't acknowledge Vin. She moved her hand so her fingers brushed against his.
"Maybe we'll go to that cabin some day," she said.
Vin looked at her, like he thought she was mocking him. Morgan looked at him evenly.
"Maybe," Vin said, the hint of a smile starting.
Impulsively, she leaned towards him and kissed him.
Vin lifted a hand to her face. Morgan's breath caught. Her own hand went to his chest, feeling his heart beat against her palm. She lost herself in the feel of his heartbeat. In his lips.
#
Buck unlocked the door to his house. He went inside and flicked on a light, listening as Chris' truck pulled out of the drive.
Then his house was silent.
Buck dragged himself through the living room. He paused next to the ping pong table that belonged where a dining room table should be. When he and Morgan had been carrying it into the house, Chris and Sam had pulled up.
"What's that?" Sam had asked.
"A ping pong table," Morgan had said. It was the first time she had a spark of life in her eyes since their ma had died.
"Where are you going to put it?" Sam had asked.
"Got rid of the dining room table," Buck had answered.
"You're putting a game table in your dining room?" Sam had asked skeptically.
Morgan had grunted slightly, shifting her hold on the table as she made her way through the front door with her end before Chris got through the door and took it from her, helping Buck the rest of the way.
"It's got the most space," Morgan answered. "Buck wanted to put a pool table there," Morgan had said disdainfully.
Chris had looked over at Buck with a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Well, now, that's just crazy puttin' a pool table in the dining room."
"It is if Buck wanted me to help move it in," Morgan said.
Buck sighed, shoving the memories down. He didn't want to think of how often he and Morgan had stood across from each other at the table, bouncing the ball to one another while he waited for her to open up, however little, about school, the move to Denver, missing their ma.
And then she had stopped talking to him. Started staying out late. Her grades dropping. And Buck had no idea what had happened.
Now she was married.
Buck shoved his hands into his hair. He didn't know this guy he had found with Morgan. Not that it mattered. Morgan could have married the pope and Buck would still be reeling right now.
He went down the hall to her room and pushed open the door. The floor in front of the closet was covered with clothes, make up scattered across the vanity table. Her bed was unmade and books and papers spilled out of her backpack at the foot of the bed. Buck looked around the room as if it held answers.
Maybe it did.
Buck went to the vanity. Morgan had stuck pictures—mostly of her and Sam, a few with him or Chris—to the mirror. He opened the drawers and found nothing but more makeup. The dresser yielded no answers. There was nothing in the closet. Under the bed was dustbunnies and forgotten hairbands. He emptied her backpack on the bed and flipped through the notebooks. A loose piece of paper fluttered to the bed.
Buck picked it up and unfolded it, recognizing Morgan's impatient scrawl, followed by Sam's bold letters. He scanned it. His brow knit as he read the written argument between the girls. Sam was telling Morgan to talk to someone, see the school counselor. Morgan sloppily scribbling back that she never should have told Sam.
The paper crinkled in Buck's hand as he gripped it tighter in frustration. Told Sam what? What did Sam know that she was refusing to say? And what in the name of all things holy did Morgan need to see the school counselor about?
If anything, Buck felt more upset. Now he knew for sure something bad was going on with Morgan. Something she wouldn't tell anyone about.
Buck sank down on the edge of the bed. He looked around the room, signs of Morgan everywhere.
He felt more alone than he could ever remember feeling. He hoped Morgan was safe, wherever she was tonight.
#
"Sam!"
Sam ignored Chris, heading up the stairs to her room and Chris fought the urge to chase after her, grab her and make her stop.
"Samantha Jane!"
Sam turned the corner, heading to her room.
A short few steps and Chris could hear the door slam shut.
A curse burst out of him and he slammed his fist against the wall. It was about as productive as Chris knew it would be, leaving him with a stinging hand and nothing fixed.
He stared up the staircase, feeling the muscle in his jaw jump as he clenched his teeth together.
He hissed a breath out between his teeth. He wasn't that eager to face off with Sam, only to be met with stony silence. Instead, he went to the den off the living room. He pulled his phone from his pocket and scrolled through his contacts. Hitting the number he wanted, he yanked open a desk drawer and pulled out a pad of paper.
"Josiah?" he said when the man on the other end answered. "You at the precinct? I got a name for you to run."
He gave Josiah the name and birthdate of Morgan's aberration—he couldn't bring himself to think of the guy as her husband—and told him to call him with whatever he found out.
Josiah promised to look into the guy.
Chris tossed his phone down on the desk. He paced across the den in agitation. He heard something coming from Sam's room above him and stopped. Her footsteps traveled across her room. Then turned and went back. She was pacing her own route up there.
Well hopefully Sam would pace until she got her head on straight. As for himself, Chris didn't think it matter how many steps he took. Nothing was going to make any of this right.
#