[ 18. The Peace And The Panic ]

When I woke from my nap with Hayes, my arm felt like it was going to fall off.

It wasn't even my tied up arm that was in pain. I groaned, trying to pull on it, but there was a weight on my forearm I couldn't lift. I was jolted awake, wide-eyed and startled, when I realized Hayes was cuddling me in his sleep.

Since he hadn't slept here last night, I didn't know he'd be a cuddler. He came off very macho, detached, and invulnerable. So for his head to be resting on my chest, leg swung over my waist, and body crushing my arm to the point of numbness, came as a shock. I didn't move again in fear of him waking up and breaking my face as if it were my fault. Did he lay here on purpose? Or had he subconsciously moved in his sleep to be as close to me as possible without him literally being inside me?

For a moment, I just laid there.

I could smell his shampoo and it smelled better emitting off his hair than it did in the palm of my hand in the shower. His soft breaths seeped through the T-shirt on my chest, hot and damp from however long we'd slept. The palm of his hand rested on my side, slotting between my ribs like it were his own personal handle.

It was hard to see him as the same person when he was asleep like this. He was silent, save for his breaths and occasional quiet noises from dreaming. There were no threats, no sharp words or heated glares. He was just a man. A man I'd slept with and now cuddled with.

This man was going to kill me. He was already killing me slowly by opening up different parts of himself, giving me less reason to hate him and more reason to wish to know more. I couldn't sway him anymore than I had and, to be honest, it was a bit saddening. To know that even though we'd been as intimate as intimate could be, he still would have my head on a platter for a chunk of cash.

Did he feel fulfilled with the work he did? Was it worth the magazine house, the sever in his relationship with his son, the ability to be void of any emotion?

It was my own fault for putting sex on the table. Now in these quiet moments all I had was thought. Hayes should have killed me last night, or this afternoon before he decided a nap was more important than cashing his check—me. I sighed, the hair at the crown of his head swishing with the action.

The rise and fall of my chest seemed to be enough to wake him. He, too, jolted awake when he realized what he was doing and who he was doing it to. I just stared at him wordlessly, wondering if this train of thought would be my demise. I'd kept a good attitude about this whole death thing—a miraculously good attitude, really. Who the hell cracks jokes and begs to be fucked when their life is on the line?

I was more fucked up than I ever suspected myself to be, but I think everyone else knew that. Bethany knew it, Georgie knew it, Ron knew it. Hell, even Hayes knew it since he was the one facing it head on.

That made for recognizing good company, I supposed, by the way they all stuck around.

"Sorry," Hayes muttered and peeled his body off of mine, creating a cold space between us. I lifted my arm, but it fell back on the mattress like dead weight. "Did you sleep?"

I didn't say anything, just nodded. Maybe I looked like a deer in headlights, but I'd just be mimicking the look he was giving me. Like we'd done something wrong by touching each other in our sleep. Hayes pushed himself up onto one straightened arm and rubbed a hand over his face.

Hayes reached behind him to the nightstand and grabbed a knife, then sliced the zip-tie from my wrist. He was more and more trusting of my chances of taking off. I couldn't explain why I didn't. I turned onto my side and pulled both of my numb arms to my chest, still staring at him. He didn't make any efforts to avoid my stare and nothing was said for a moment or two.

"I'm going to order some food," he said slowly.

"Okay," I replied even slower.

He produced his phone from the other side of his body and I mentally cursed myself. Maybe if I'd known it'd been there the entire time I could have snuck a text to Georgette or something. That would have been far too easy.

While he tapped on his phone screen and we both laid there in the silence, I couldn't help my eyes drooping once more. With my arms free, I'd found a comfortable position for the first time in forever. I watched the side of his face and felt strangely at peace. He liked to suck on his bottom lip and release it a slick, swollen muscle. I wondered what it would feel like if he did it to mine.

"Do you have a thing against kissing?" I asked in a half-weary state.

Hayes met my eyes, but they faltered to glance at my mouth. I instinctively licked them. "No," he said. "I quite like kissing."

I snorted at his formality. "So you have a thing against kissing me?"

He inched forward. Literally, just an inch. It looked like he considered making me eat my words and kiss me woozy. But then he took a deep breath and sighed, turning his attention back to his phone. "Yes."

And that was that.

I let my eyes fall shut and dreamt of kissing Hayes in another world. One where we met in a coffee shop or on Tinder or, I don't know, anywhere but the midst of a bounty hunt. When I woke again, he was no longer in the bed with me. My fingers grazed the spot where he laid and the sheets were cold.

Sitting up, I perked a bit when feeling all my limbs at my own free will. I'd half expected him to somehow leash me to the bedpost again. The sun was much dimmer than it was when I'd fallen back asleep, as if it had ducked behind the tree line in Hayes's backyard, and all that was left was a subtle pinkish glow in the room. Taking full advantage of my lack of boundary, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and decided to look for Hayes.

Not attempt to escape. No, that would make far too much sense.

I wouldn't have made it far, anyways. He was in the kitchen when I walked out and from there he'd have a clear view of the hallway and the front door. Hayes looked over and I hugged myself, stepping closer.

He was standing in front of the counter where a gazillion grocery bags sat, wrist deep in a bag with a carton of eggs in his hands. I popped my hip and leaned against the counter and watched, still not really saying anything. Hayes emptied each bag and put everything in its respective spot and then stood in front of me.

"You said you like to cook?" he asked. I nodded. "Here you go. I ordered, like, everything, so I'm sure you can think of a recipe from this."

I blinked. He went through the trouble of filling his cabinet, which didn't seem to be something he did on a regular basis, so I could cook for him? He looked at me with a dumb little clueless expression and I blinked again. "You... want me to cook for you," I said, less for clarification and more for reiteration. "Am I just your slave now?"

Hayes's eyes widened in realization. "No," he said quickly, smacking a hand to his face. "I just thought you wanted better food since you were complaining this morning."

What the hell did it matter? I was to be dead within the next twenty-four hours. Then it would be up to him to eat all of this food—and it was a lot for one person, especially one that doesn't like to cook, to finish by himself before everything spoiled. Unless he planned on keeping me around to be his personal butler-slash-sex-slave, I didn't see the point of all this.

"And when I'm dead?" I asked plainly.

An alarming tenebrosity darkened the shadows of his face for only a moment. I felt my chest tighten for that moment and it was like we both had something to say but not the courage to say it. There wasn't anything to say. There couldn't be. Not with our circumstances.

Maybe I kept bringing up the reason I was there to challenge him. To dare him to say otherwise.

Because he wouldn't, right? Not after our mind-blowing sex. Not after admitting he didn't want to kiss me for reasons I could guess if I wanted to. Not after pushing off the job time after time even though I'd given him hell. He wasn't going to back down because this was how it was supposed to be; we'd just gotten off track.

"When you're dead," he swallowed, looking so deep into my eyes it felt like he'd reached in and grabbed my heart, "I'll throw it all away and pretend it never happened."

I wasn't sure we were talking about the food.

"Seems like a waste, doesn't it?"

Hayes narrowed his eyes. "Not right now, it isn't."

This conversation was leaving a bitter taste in my mouth and fast. I turned to the cabinets and began looking through all of the different types of meals he'd made possible just by picking random ingredients. I should have turned my nose and refused to cook for him, but I wasn't sure I could handle more frozen meals—assuming he was keeping me alive for another dinner time.

Hayes sat at the breakfast nook and watched as I pulled a list of items for a simple pasta and sauce meal, the one I'd mentioned before. It was Bethany's recipe, though it wouldn't be the same since he got jarred sauce instead of crushed tomatoes. I made sure to scold him for that. He nodded his head like he was making a mental note of it. It felt a little funny having him watch me cook. It reminded me of when I'd watch Bethany bustle around the kitchen. She was a mean chef.

When it was almost ready, I looked over at him. "You don't want to learn how to cook for your son?" I asked, dipping my toe in the water to see how deep I could go without setting him off.

"He's picky as hell," he said, shaking his head. "He's spoiled by his grandparents."

I rolled my eyes. "Would he eat this?" I asked, pointing to the very basic, very universal meal that everyone and their mother enjoyed.

He pressed his lips into a firm line. "If there is anything green, and I mean anything, he won't eat it," he said. I stared at him blankly, seriously hoping he was joking. If his son was in front of me and refused to touch the meal I worked hard on because he saw a fleck of parsley, I would probably throw hands with a child. Well, probably not. But maybe. Probably. "He'd be very polite about it, though. 'No, thank you' and all that."

"My future children would never—"

And then I stopped. Because I'd never have children. I'd never have the chance to teach my own flesh and blood the beauty of an adventurous palate. Or how to ride a bike, or take their first steps, or anything. I'd never get to prove to myself that even though I didn't know what a loving father was, I could still be one.

For the first time since I'd gotten to Hayes's house, I began to panic. I stared down at the pot of boiling red sauce and began to sweat thinking about it.

Death.

It didn't scare me. It really didn't. Loss was what scared me. Losing all of my opportunities, all my potential, all of my could-bes. It was all dust now.

Hayes didn't say a word. How could he? What could he possibly say to make this feeling go away? Sorry, but this is how it has to be. I felt the sudden urge to throw up, to dispel all of this unreadiness and bile rising up the back of my throat.

I'd lost my appetite.