His curly, thick lashes dropped over his eyes. He hadn’t talked himself this far into our situation, and I could tell he was thinking. “Until this arrangement stops working out or you break the rules,” he seemed to decide.
That wasn’t a concrete answer, but I could live with it.
Sure, I’d just hugged him, but I thrust my hand out between us. His eyes bounced from me to my hand and back to my face before he took it. His hold was firm and jerky, his hands dry.
And big.
“Thank you,” I told him again, relief pulsing through me.
He dipped that bristled chin of his. “The rent is going to be for Amos.”
The idea that I’d had when Amos and I had been in my car on the way to the hospital popped back up, and I hesitated for a second, debating whether or not to make the offer, but doing it anyway because it felt like the right thing to do. “Look, I can probably get him a discount on his guitar depending on who he decides he wants it through. I can’t promise, but I can try. Let me know.”
His eyebrows crept closer together, and his mouth did that twist again, but he nodded. “Thank you for the offer.” He exhaled, a much smaller and normal one this time, and I eyed his full mouth. “I’m still mad at him for going behind my back, and he’s going to stay grounded for a few months, but if you’re around after that…” He tipped his head to the side.
I grinned. “He told me what he wants. I’ll help you, just let me know.”
His expression went leery, but he dipped his chin.
I smiled. “Best day ever. Thank you so much for letting me stay, Mr. Rhodes.”
He opened his mouth and then closed it again before nodding, then looking away.
Okay. I took a step back. “I’ll see you later. Thank you again.”
“I heard you the first time,” he muttered.
Lord, this guy was grumpy. It made me laugh. “I really mean it. Goodnight.”
He turned around to walk away, calling out over his shoulder in what I was pretty sure was a huff, “’Night.”
I couldn’t even put into words how relieved I was. I was staying. Maybe things were starting to turn around for me.
Maybe just maybe.
*
They weren’t.
My eyes popped open in the middle of the night like my bat senses were going off.
Holding my breath, I stared up at the ceiling and waited, listened. Watched. I had convinced myself it had escaped, so I wouldn’t worry about it all day.
I heard it. My eyes adjusted just as it started swooping, and I shoved part of the blanket into my mouth.
I wasn’t going to scream. I wasn’t going to scream…
Maybe it really had left. I’d looked all over the apartment for it that morning and after Mr. Rhodes had extended my stay. And there’d been nothing. Maybe it had—
It swooped right by my face—maybe it wasn’t right by my face, but it seemed like it—and I squealed.
No way. Pulling the blanket over my face, I rolled off the bed with it and started crawling. Luckily, I’d left my keys in the same place all the time, and my eyes had adjusted enough so that I could see the kitchen counter. I reached up just enough to grab them.
Then I kept on crawling toward the staircase. For the second night in a row. I could never tell my aunt about this. She’d start researching rabies vaccinations.
I wasn’t proud of myself, but I took the stairs on my ass, the blanket tucked tight over my head.
I’d shoved my cell down my bra at some point, and at the bottom of the stairs, I slipped my feet into the tennis shoes I’d kicked off down there earlier, keeping as low as possible, and finally headed outside, still wrapped in my blanket.
Small animal noises rustled around as I closed the door behind me and locked it, before basically running toward my car, hoping and praying something wasn’t going to come swooping, but I managed to slip inside and slam the door closed.
Reclining the seat and then pushing it back as far as it would go, I settled in, blanket up to my neck, and not for the first time, I wondered—despite how I’d felt earlier when Mr. Rhodes had offered to let me stay—what the hell I was doing here. Hiding in my car.
Maybe I should go back to Florida. We had bugs the size of small bats, sure, but I wasn’t scared of them. Well, not really.
It’s just a bat, my mom would have told me. I used to be terrified of spiders, but she’d helped me work the fear out. Everything was a living, breathing being that needed food and water like I did. It had organs and felt pain.
It was okay to be scared. It was good to be scared of things.