When Felix is hired to take care of a recently blinded man, he thinks his life might finally be turning around. It has to be better than where he came from, but he has no idea what he’s signed up for. Lane is depressed, rude, and difficult to be around. It doesn’t help that Felix is clearly not qualified for the job, especially since he can’t even make oatmeal right. But Felix is trying to make his life better, so he’ll put up with the man even if it requires some unconventional methods. Felix’s humor soon pulls Lane out of his depression, and Felix feels like things are finally going right in his life.
That is, until he’s attacked by someone who wants to keep Lane quiet. It’s clear that Lane isn’t who he’s pretending to be, and Felix should probably walk away. But Felix has finally found a place where he belongs and he’s willing to go to great lengths to stay by Lane’s side. Even if it involves kidnapping, stealing, and Felix’s overwhelmingly bad ideas, Felix will do just about anything because Lane is there for him unlike anyone else has ever been. Felix might be out of his element, but one thing he is sure about is that he doesn’t want to leave Lane… even if it costs him his life.
Hidden in Darkness is 90k words of snark, car chases, and morally questionable choices.
*Newly edited with an updated cover.
Felix and Lane are still on fire, their banter is even better the second time and Joel Leslie's narration brings an added extra level of entertaining spice to their snark and cuddle routine. Definitely will be enjoying this series for years to come.
Original Review November Book of the Month 2019:
A couple of weeks ago I went into one of the M/M book recommendation groups on Facebook and asked for 2 different type of books and Alice Winters' In Darkness series was rec'd for both of them coupled with follow bloggers that I have always valued their opinions on recs have talked great things about her work, I knew it was time I gave her a try. What took me so long to do so I'll never know because her writing is great. Character chemistry, humor, danger, romance, heart - it's all here. Hidden in Darkness is A-Freakin'-Mazing!!!
On the surface Lane is . . . well to be ladylike, a jerk but he has reason to behave the way he does having been recently blinded after a lifetime of sight can't be an easy thing to adjust to especially as we learn more about his occupation and the things he did. Felix is a smarta . . . well once again to be ladylike😉, brash, cocky, cheeky - you get the picture. Together they are a perfect fit, they are exactly what the other needs even if they both fight it, the chemistry is instantaneous. Having said all that I still wanted to whack their heads together many, many times😉😉.
As I said above I was asking for recs on Facebook and one of the recs was a Nick and Nora Charles-like chemistry, well Felix and Lane definitely have that. Their bickering banter is hilarious, their differing detecting styles is dangerously effective, and their lust-filled attraction is explosive. Put these all together and Felix and Lane are highly addictive.
Now the other rec I asked for was caregiving and though Felix's approach to Lane is a bit unorthodox at times it fits with Lane's personality and Felix takes his job seriously, even if it doesn't always appear so. It is the unorthodox moments that you realize Felix isn't only helping Lane and putting up with his crap but he's also trying to teach Lane that being blind isn't the end of living. It may take a while and Lane may fight it every step of the way but before you know it he is trying to prove to others that he can still be useful all the while never losing that snarky spark that brought him and Felix together.
Now whether the bad guys and life in general allows the pair to continue forward is something you will have to read for yourself and trust me you will definitely want to read their journey. Hidden in Darkness is only the beginning of Lane and Felix' story and as much as I want to jump right in to the next installment unfortunately I'll have to wait until after the holidays but it will definitely be one of the first things I read once my Christmas 2019 reading list is done. As I said before, this is my first Alice Winters story but it won't be my last.
RATING:
Prologue
Lane
I know I have to run.
I know I have to get away.
But I can’t. I can barely move.
Lane
I know I have to run.
I know I have to get away.
But I can’t. I can barely move.
My hand hits my leg, and I’m shocked by how close it is. I jerk my hand back as everything compresses around me until I feel like I can’t breathe, but I can’t let the darkness take me. Not yet.
I know that I have to move.
There’s noise outside the room. I can hear it, but it’s getting farther and farther away from me. Desperately, I grip onto the noise since it’s the only thing that feels real at this moment.
Calm down, Lane. This is what you’re trained to do.
Is it? Am I trained for situations like this? Situations where I have been thrown into the darkness, where the walls collapse down tight on top of me until I can’t breathe? It’s almost bad enough that I can forget the throbbing that is consuming every inch of my body.
My hand is shaking as I strain my fingers in an attempt to reach down and touch my leg. My pants are wet, but I could have figured that out without even touching them. My wrist aches against the restraint, so I give in, letting myself rest at a more comfortable angle.
I need help. I need medical attention.
I need to get out.
I need to live.
The duct tape around my wrist is wet, slick with blood. I pull on it as the bruises scream, but I can’t stop because I don’t know when he’ll come back.
Five hours?
Five minutes?
Five seconds?
I need to get out.
Straining, I twist and pull my left arm as the tape bunches. The struggling is causing the blood to run against the tape until it begins to slide. My aching hand screams as I twist and pull until I feel it start to give. I pull it free and slump down in the chair.
Now just one more hand.
I feel like I’m going to pass out, and for a moment, I have to focus on staying alert.
My fingers are shaking as I reach over until my hand bumps into the arm of the chair. This one is tight against the chair instead of loose like the other. The tape on this wrist is dry, so I run my fingers over it until I feel a slight catch. I can’t tell if it’s a ripple in the tape or the end of it, but I begin to dig at it with my fingernails. Each bump of my left hand against my right makes it ache. My hand feels like it’s broken, but I don’t think it is. All I know is that each tug of the tape makes me want to scream, so I grit my teeth and pull. I even my breath, breathing in for three seconds, breathing out for three seconds.
I can’t pass out.
My hand goes around and around, tugging and pulling at the tape, but I can’t tell how much is left. I can’t tell if I’m close to the end or still at the beginning.
I can’t tell anything in this dark world.
The tape pulls free, and I can’t help the smile that touches my face.
I’m free!
For now.
Instead of tossing the tape to the ground, I set it against my bleeding leg and begin to wrap it around the wound. I pull it tight and have to grit my teeth as I keep it pressed against the wound. I wind it again and again as heat begins to consume my body, telling me that I’m close to passing out.
I can’t… not yet.
I tuck the end of the tape in, praying it’ll stay. Slumping against the chair, I feel nauseous as sweat soaks my shirt. I have to waste a precious moment regaining my composure until I feel prepared to make my escape. If I make a single mistake, this will be over. I won’t get a second chance.
It doesn’t matter how much pain I’m in, I know that if I don’t make it out of here now, I will die.
Using my one good arm and the arm of the chair, I push myself to my feet, favoring my left leg. I know where the door is; it’s in front of me. But I can’t remember how far away.
Four feet?
Six feet?
It feels like a mile as I take my first step. My weight comes down on my leg, and I nearly fall to the ground, but I manage to steady myself. When I hit the door, I am elated. I have made it this far. I can make it. I can do this.
I set my hand against the cool metal door and slide it to the edge until I feel where the door meets the doorframe. Then I run my hand down until I hit the doorknob. Desperately, I grab onto it and pull.
It gives easily in my hand, making me want to grin at their mistake, but I can’t get the grimace off my face.
They’re not afraid of me escaping.
How far can a blind man go?
I’ll show them how fucking far I can go.
I step out into the hallway as I try to remember the path I was taken in through. Back when my world wasn’t consumed by darkness.
There were stairs. I remember the stairs that I was dragged down; now I just have to find them. With my good hand against the wall, I begin to walk. Each step as painful as the last. It feels like the world is closing in on me as the darkness consumes me.
There could be a man directly in front of me, and I would never see him until I am on him. They could be laughing at me as I drag my body through the hall, praying for stairs I am not sure I will ever find.
My hand touches a door and I debate opening it, but even if there is a gun sitting right inside, I can’t do anything with it. I am useless now.
No, I am not useless. I can get out of here.
My hand slides forward, dropping as the wall falls away. I don’t realize how much weight I had been pressing against it until I am falling forward. Desperately, I reach out, hoping to catch myself, but the moment my right hand hits, my wrist gives, and I slam down onto the stairs.
I dig the nails of my left hand into the step as I lie against them.
Well… I found the stairs.
I grab onto the next step and pull myself up, first placing one knee, and then the next as I crawl up them. I know I need to get to my feet, but I’m not sure I can. Carefully, I slide each hand forward, feeling my path as I edge up each step.
When my hand doesn’t reach another step, I stretch it out, feeling the path before me until I hit a wall. I slide my hand along it until I find a doorknob and turn it. I pull the door toward me, but it won’t give, so I push it away.
For all I know, I’m stepping right into the pit of vipers. I can’t check, I can just listen. As I step through the door, I feel the cool air on the left side of my face. Slowly I turn my head as if I could see something and move toward it.
Could this be a door leading out? Could it be this simple?
None of this has been simple so far.
My hand hits a door, and suddenly I can feel the cool metal. I move my hand until I find another handle and pull it open. The smell of fresh rain fills my nose as I grasp onto the sound of birds in the distance.
I have made it outside, but it doesn’t mean I’m free.
The wind blows, disrupting my hair and angering the wounds on my face. I want to lie down. Just rest for a moment, but I know that if I do, I won’t get back up, and I can’t give up. I’ve made it too far now, but doubt sets in regardless. I have no idea where I’m at; I can’t grab a car and drive away. I am lost in this world of darkness and can barely breathe. My chest feels like it’s compressing as I take my first step. I can hear gravel beneath my feet as I reach out, wishing to find a wall to support me.
There’s nothing left, making me feel like every step I take could lead to my death. Like I would fall into a pit and drop straight to hell.
Then I hear it.
A dog barking.
The sound is distant but steady.
A rhythm, almost.
Constant.
It could be leading me to my death, but it could also be leading me to my freedom.
So, I begin to walk. Slowly placing each foot in front of the other. It feels like a dream, almost like I am walking on nothing and everything. Carefully, I keep moving forward, forcing one step after the other.
The barking grows louder.
It feels like I’ve walked for hours.
Or days.
Or a lifetime.
I will reach that dog. I will reach it, and I pray that when I do, it will lead to my freedom from this hell.
Chapter One
Felix
I check my phone for the fourth time to make sure it’s the right address, as if I have forgotten how to read and might be at the wrong place. But I hate going to places I have never been to before, so I check it one more time, just in case. When I’m certain that I’m at the right location, I get out of my car and walk up the sidewalk, toward the gray, one-story house. It has a small porch with some weathered wicker chairs set out on it. I walk up the steps and across the porch to the dark blue door. I knock on it, before stepping back and waiting. It isn’t long before the door swings open, and a man in his forties looks out at me.
He smiles at me as he swings the door open wider. “You must be Mr. Wake,” the man says as he holds his hand out. His brown hair is cut short and gray hair is starting to mix in. He has dark blue eyes that are hidden behind black-framed glasses.
“Yes, I am,” I say as I take his hand and shake it. “Just call me Felix though.”
“I’m James Dixon. I was the one that talked to you last night on the phone.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” I say as I look up at him. Sadly, I seem to have to look up at half the population. Not half the adult population, but half the population as a whole.
“Please, come in,” he says as he holds the door open for me. “I’m glad to finally meet with you in person. I’ve been very busy, so I was unable to do the interviews, but Dani thought you were the best choice, so here we are.”
“Yes, thanks for giving me this opportunity,” I say with a smile.
“Right this way,” he says. “You can meet Lane, and then I’ll show you around the house.”
“Okay,” I say, looking around curiously as he leads me through the kitchen and into the living room. The house is very nice but noticeably bare. It looks like someone had just moved in and had forgotten to decorate any of the rooms. There are no pictures on the walls or anything that looks personalized. Everything looks like it was bought from a home décor store and just stuck on the wall or on a shelf without any meaning to it. It reminds me more of a house ready for market than one actually being lived in.
The television is on in the living room, and in the middle of the room is a man in a wheelchair. His back is facing us, but he turns his head a little in our direction, telling me he’s heard us.
“This is Lane,” James says, and the man turns his head a bit more in our direction.
“James, if that is someone to babysit me, I swear to God I’m going to be so pissed,” he growls.
Clearly, I’ve made an excellent first impression, and I haven’t even opened my mouth yet. Generally, I get a few words out before people decide to hate me.
“It’s not,” James says calmly. “Go ahead, introduce yourself.”
I walk around to the front of the wheelchair the man is sitting in. His head turns as he tries to follow the sound of my footsteps with his ears. I can see a stretch of a healing red cut running along his left cheekbone, hidden slightly by the dark sunglasses he’s wearing. Even though he is in his own home, the fact that he is blind must bother him enough that he feels like he needs to hide it. He has a blanket lying over his lap, but I know from the interview that he had hurt his left leg. All this from a drunk driver hitting his car. He’ll be blind forever because of another man’s negligence. I guess I would be a bit of a grouch too if someone had ripped my vision away from me.
“Hi, Mr. Price, my name is Felix Wake,” I say.
“And, Mr. Wake, what are you doing in my home?” he asks as venom drips off his words.
I look over at James and raise an eyebrow as I realize I’m not welcome.
“Felix is going to be assisting you until you get better,” James says.
“I don’t need help, because I am not helpless.” He’s scowling at us and I know that if I could see his eyes they’d be glaring at me. He looks to be in his mid or late thirties with rich brown hair that looks a bit unkempt. The right side is sticking straight up, and the left lies naturally. His facial hair looks scruffy, like it hasn’t been trimmed in a while. His cheeks look hollow like he is beyond exhaustion, but it is clear that this man used to be quite active by the way his T-shirt clings around his muscular arms and stomach. So honestly, it’s not my fault that I can’t help my straying eyes.
“Felix will be staying in the guest bedroom and will take care of the cleaning, cooking, and care for you,” James explains, and I hope he hasn’t noticed my betraying eyes.
Lane laughs, but it’s not a happy laugh. “It’s my house; I can decide what to do with it and how to take care of myself,” he says. It’s like every time he opens his mouth he looks just a bit uglier. Who am I kidding? The man is gorgeous.
“Well, Lane, he’s moving in tomorrow,” James says. “So, you better get used to it.”
Lane seems to decide that he’s done with the conversation and starts to ignore us. Instead, he aims all his concentration toward the TV, making James sigh. “Right this way, Felix.”
I follow as he leads me over to the hallway. Even these walls are empty of pictures and color. Just white walls, white trim. It feels sterile, like a hospital or a school.
“First door on the left is the bathroom,” he says. I glance through the open doorway as he continues walking. “Next door is Lane’s room. Then yours is right here.”
Lane’s bedroom door is closed, but James pushes open the door to the guest bedroom. I peek in, but from here all I can see is the full-sized bed. I run my hand through my ear-length, blond hair and pray that I had made the right decision coming here. I worry at a tip of my hair before dropping my hand down.
I glance over at James, who is staring at his phone. “Is it alright with me being here?” I ask a bit skeptically. Clearly, the occupant of the house didn’t want me within ten miles of him, and we hadn’t even shared words yet beyond an introduction.
“Of course. Don’t listen to Lane. I make the decisions, not him. He thinks he can do everything, but I don’t want him alone all day. He can be reckless at times, and I know if he’s alone he’ll end up doing something stupid and hurting himself. Really, he’s not a bad guy. He’s is just… not taking this well. He’s angry and upset, so he seems to be lashing out at anyone that looks his way. He is used to being independent and self-sufficient, not relying on others. You alright with this?”
“Yes, of course,” I say as I glance into my room. It looks as bare and lifeless as the rest of the house.
“Here,” James says, pulling my attention back to him. I notice that he’s holding out a credit card, so I reach for it. “Buy groceries for Lane and yourself with this. It can also be used for whatever necessities are needed. Dani said she’d already gone over all the details with you. Are there any questions?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” I say as I clutch the credit card in my hand, slightly unsure of what to do with it.
“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” he says. He shakes my hand again, but for some reason, I feel like “if you decide to come back” had been hanging onto the end of his words.
He turns around and continues back through the hallway, so I follow him into the living room.
“He’s not gone yet?” Lane grumbles.
“Not yet,” James says.
“Did you tell him the last babysitter didn’t make it a day?” he asks like he’s proud of himself. I’m kind of proud of him because I can’t imagine that would be easy to do.
“Nope, but now he’s well aware,” James says with a grimace.
I can’t help but grin. To me, that sounds like a challenge, and one thing I do enjoy is a challenge. “I’ll be back tomorrow to start,” I say, trying to sound very happy about it. “Can’t wait to see you again, Lane!”
“Don’t bother coming back,” he growls, and I almost laugh as I head out the door.
*****
I knock on the door, but James must have seen me pull up because he pulls the door open before my hand even hits a second time.
“Good to see you back,” he says eagerly. “Sorry to run, but I need to be home by six. You have any questions?”
The bag is weighing down my arm, and right now I just want to find a place to put it. “Not that I can think of,” I say.
“Here’s my number. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call,” he says as he passes me a piece of paper with a list of contacts. His number is handwritten at the top, and I notice the rest of the numbers are for doctors. Not a single contact looks like a family member’s.
“Thank you,” I say.
He smiles and passes by me, leaving me in the house alone with the man who hates my guts. That’s alright, I’ve lived with people that hated me before. How could this one be any worse? I carry my suitcase down the hall, between the white, looming walls, and set it just inside my bedroom door. Then I walk into the living room where Lane is sitting before the TV that’s playing a movie. He doesn’t even look in my direction as I walk in, instead, he stays facing the TV with his blanket around his lap and sunglasses firmly in place.
“Lane, it’s Felix,” I say. “How are you doing today?”
He doesn’t move, just completely ignores me as he taps the edge of his wheelchair with his finger.
“Do you need anything?” I ask.
Silence. The TV is playing The Hangover, which he doesn’t seem to be enjoying. It’s the part where the man jumps out of the trunk, but he’s acting like it’s a movie about the Holocaust.
I walk over to him. “Is your water full?” I ask as I pick the bottle up. It’s full, but the water is warm. “I’ll get you something cold. Just water or something else?”
“Maybe I want my water warm,” he says.
I debate saying something, but I don’t. It probably wouldn’t look good to bad-mouth a blind man, so I put the lid back on and set it down. “Alright, one warm water coming right up,” I say. I pause, waiting to see if he’ll say anything, before sighing. “I’m going to go unpack. If you need something, don’t hesitate to ask.”
I walk back to my bedroom where I toss my suitcase on my bed and open it. The room is bigger than the one I’d had at my last apartment, which really isn’t saying much. This one has a nice full-sized bed, which is an upgrade from the twin I had still been sleeping on at the age of twenty-five. There is a dresser in the corner and a desk, but the room is simple. When I pull the dresser drawers open, the smell of fresh wood touches my nose. I put my underwear and socks in the first drawer, shirts in the second, pants in the third, and sweatshirts in the last drawer. There isn’t much else in my suitcase. A few books, a few movies. Everything else I own is in my car since I had decided to completely move out of my apartment. I didn’t need it if I am living here, so what’s the use of paying rent on it? And it isn’t like I would have trouble finding another dumpy apartment if this didn’t work out.
I walk back into the living room. “Do you need something?”
“Please, just go away,” he says sharply.
Alright. I walk into the kitchen and rummage through the cupboards, but there isn’t much. Thankfully, there is enough to get by until tomorrow because I really don’t feel like grocery shopping today. I’m sure I won’t feel like grocery shopping tomorrow either, but it has to be a little easier using someone else’s credit card. I walk back into the living room and sit down in a chair. There’s not much left of the movie, so I wait until it’s over.
“I need to go grocery shopping tomorrow, so I’m wondering if you could tell me what types of food you like?” I ask as soon as the credits roll.
He keeps his face forward, refusing to even turn his head a fraction in my direction. “How about meats? You like chicken?” I ask.
He ignores me, so I just lean back and watch the TV.
“You want to sit in a chair? That wheelchair can’t be comfortable.”
Ha, like I would actually get an answer!
When supper time comes around, I cook rice and chicken since that is basically all that I can find in the house. I dish it up into a bowl, grab a fork, and carry it into the living room. After setting his tray up in front of him, I place the bowl on it.
“I made rice and chicken. There wasn’t much else in the house, so this is what we’ll have to make do with. I put your fork on the right,” I say.
He doesn’t even turn his head toward the food.
“I’ll be back,” I say before getting up and walking into the kitchen. I watch from the doorway as he slowly reaches for his fork. He has a brace on his right hand, but he tries to set it against the bowl, so he can feel it. I know that his hand isn’t broken, but he seems to be having trouble using it. I know he doesn’t want me to watch him fumble, which is why he refused to eat in front of me. I sigh and eat my food from the doorway of the kitchen, so I can watch in case he needs something.
When he’s done I walk back in.
“Was it okay?”
“No,” he says.
Of course not.
“What would you have liked different?”
“All of it.”
Of course.
“Well, I’m sorry, but that’s how I cook. If you’d like something specific, I’ll make it for dinner tomorrow.”
I don’t even expect an answer, so I pick up the bowls and wash them in the sink before drying them. After a few hours of TV, I get no response when I ask if he wants a snack or if he wants to take a shower.
“Alright, bedtime,” I say.
“I’m not a child.”
“Never said you were,” I say. But since he can’t do anything about it, I grab the back of his wheelchair and wheel him down the hallway and into the bathroom. “Toothbrush… where’s your toothbrush?”
“Up your ass,” he says.
“Nope, I think I would have noticed it there,” I say.
I open the cupboards and finally find it in the end drawer. I put toothpaste on it and wet it. “Here you go,” I say as I place it in his hand. He instinctively grabs it, and I’m thrilled when he finally brushes his teeth. When he’s done, I put the toothbrush back where I found it.
“I need to pee, so leave,” he says as he tries to show me out with a wave of his hand.
“You expect me to leave while you try to pee alone?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“What, you want to fondle my dick or something?”
Maybe.
“Your leg is hurt, and your hand is hurt, so I think I’ll help you onto the toilet. I can leave then if you insist, I just don’t want you to fall,” I say as I wheel him over to the toilet.
He’s bigger than me, so I put the lock on the wheelchair and wrap an arm behind his back. With his help, I manage to get him up. He slides his pants down, so I guide him onto the toilet.
“Alright, I’m leaving but only if you promise to tell me when you’re done. Don’t do something stupid on your own.”
He ignores me as I walk out and shut the door. It isn’t long before I hear a loud crash, so I yank the door open to find Lane half on the ground with everything knocked off the countertop. Quickly, I rush over and grab him, so I can help pull him into the chair.
As I help him, I don’t even bother saying anything because I can tell he’s mad at himself and would probably snap at me if I did. Instead, I kick the stuff on the floor out of the way and wheel him through the doorway and into his bedroom. “I want to check your wounds and then you can go to bed.”
I ruffle through the mess that James had left for me, but I get the gist of what’s there. “I have to pull your sweatpants down, alright?” I say as I do just that, so I can get to his thigh. I look at the staples, which seem to be healing well. It won’t be long before he’ll be able to get them out and get out of the wheelchair. I clean the area and help him back into his sweats. He also has a cut on his arm and a small one on his other leg that I check. “There. Everything feels alright?”
He ignores me, so I help him up into his bed and pull the sheets over him.
“Can I check your eyes?” I ask since I haven’t seen him with the sunglasses off yet.
“No, I’ve already taken care of them.”
“Are you sure?” I ask.
“They’re fine.”
“Goodnight. If you need anything, wake me up. What time do you usually get up in the morning?”
Silence. “Yeah, me too,” I say before walking out of the room.
*****
I wake at eight and help Lane into the living room without much incident and without any kind words from him.
“Do you want to sit in a chair or lay down?”
Silence.
Oh, I can only be nice for so long. “Lane, I am speaking to you,” I say. “You’re not deaf. Answer me.”
“Just leave me alone. I want to be alone!” he says as he slams his hand down on the arm of the chair.
I honestly think he just wants to rot in that chair and let depression consume him. “Well, sorry, but your pity party of one just gained a new member,” I say. “And guess what? I’m not leaving. I’m going to help you whether you like it or not because I get paid, which I like.”
He turns his head toward me. “Did you seriously just say that?”
“I did, and in retrospect, it might have been a bit mean. But I feel like you also thought it was slightly funny,” I say.
“So, you’re a comedian now?”
“Oh no. I just say stuff that gets me in trouble, but no one’s here to yell at me. If I keep getting paid I’m staying. It’s your choice whether you want it to be a fun and pleasant experience or hell.”
“My life is already hell.”
I snort. “Trust me, buddy, I can make it worse. I could… put you in the corner… take away your blanket… feed you dog food,” I say as I try not to laugh.
“Can’t be any worse than what you fed me last night,” he says, and I feel like I can see a slight upturn of his lips. Maybe he isn’t all bad.
I laugh in surprise. “You are pure evil.”
“Then maybe you should leave now.”
“No, I’m not going to.” I grab his water bottle and go into the kitchen where I run the water until it is almost hot. I fill up his cup and carry it into the living room where I hand it to him. “Here’s your water.”
He takes it from me and I watch with a grin as he takes a sip of it and spits it out. “What is this?” He shakes the cup and water sloshes out.
“Yesterday you said you liked your water warm.”
“Oh, really funny,” he says, but his words don’t have the venom they held earlier. He throws it at me, and let me say, for a blind guy, he has a really good aim. It hits me square in the forehead and I stumble back as water showers me.
“Ow!” I snap as I grab my head. It feels like I should have a welt the size of an egg on my head.
“Did that hit you?” he asks as he tries to hide a grin.
“I’m going to have a brain tumor now.”
“I don’t see anything,” he says as he looks quite content with himself. “Not even a red spot.”
“Hmm. I’m going to buy you cat food for lunch,” I say.
“From the limited amount of time I have spent with you I have decided that you’re actually quite mean. I guess you’re really not the little happy boy you were pretending to be yesterday,” he says.
“Being around you for any amount of time can turn a saint into a sinner,” I say.
“If you’re insistent on joining this ‘pity party,’ go make me some oatmeal.”
“I thought you didn’t like my food,” I say.
“Hopefully even you can’t ruin oatmeal,” he says.
“One could hope,” I say as I turn from him and walk into the kitchen. I pour the little packet of oatmeal into a bowl as well as some milk and slip it into the microwave. Then I pull open all the wrong drawers before finding the spoons. Once the oatmeal is cooked, I carry it into the living room and set it down in front of Lane. “Spoon on the right.”
He reaches for it and touches it gingerly. I think he is waiting for me to leave, but I don’t. I honestly can’t. I also can’t wipe the grin off my face. He sticks his spoon into the oatmeal, grabbing a spoonful before raising it to his mouth.
“What is this? Soup?” he asks as he tips the spoon and everything runs off.
“I may have added a bit too much milk,” I admit. I hadn’t done it on purpose, but instead of trying to drain any of the milk, I had decided he could drink it with a straw if he is going to be mean.
“How did you get hired?” he asks in shock.
“Honestly, I’m not sure,” I say. “I guess I’m good at talking women into things. Alright, I’m going shopping. You going to tell me what you want?”
“I want you to leave. I mean, if I have to suffer and be taken care of like I’m an invalid, I would at least like someone that cooks.”
“Yeah, I don’t think I can buy cooking skills at the store. So, think of something edible. How about meats. Are you picky?”
He tries to eat the oatmeal, but every spoonful is just milk. “Is there actually any oatmeal in here?” he asks.
“Just drink it,” I suggest. “So, I’m just going to go buy you things and hope you’re not allergic to any of it. You want to go with me?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Okay. What would you like to do while I’m gone?”
He gets a look on his face like he has a bright idea. “Why don’t you go get me a book? Oh, and set up a puzzle for me, too,” he suggests.
“Alright,” I say. I walk into the hallway and turn left into his bedroom. There’s a bookshelf shoved against the wall filled with books. The man must have loved to read because it’s overflowing out onto the floor. I pick the first book off the top of the pile, walk back into the living room, and set the book on his lap. “Here you are. I couldn’t find a puzzle though, but I can pick you up one at the store. A thousand pieces wouldn’t be too hard for you, would it?”
The expression on his face shows me his shock. “Oh ho… that’s mean,” he says, unable to hide his grin. He grabs the book and chucks it at me. Thankfully, this time he misses and the book skids across the floor.
“You asked for it!” I say as I pick the book up off the ground and set it on the coffee table. “Want the TV on?” I ask as I pick up the remote.
“As long as you don’t do it,” he says. I turn it on anyway and flip through it until I find the Spanish movie channel, really hoping he doesn’t know Spanish.
“How’d you know that this is my favorite channel?” he jokes.
“I’m good like that. I’ll be back in an hour or so. I have my cell, so if you need anything I have my number dialed in it. All you have to do is ask Siri. You do remember my name, right?”
He picks up his phone, holds the button and lifts it toward his face. “Siri, call shit for brains.”
“I don’t see Shit in your contacts. Should I look for locations by that name?” Siri asks.
Nice.
I grab my car keys and walk out the door.
Alice Winters started writing stories as soon as she was old enough to turn her ideas into written words. She loves writing a variety of things from romance and comedy to action. She also enjoys reading, horseback riding, and spending time with her pets.
Alice Winters
EMAIL: alicewintersauthor@gmail.com
Joel Leslie(Narrator)
Series
