The Lair

by Lisina Coney

“Thank you for offering to come with me, but I don’t want to be a bother.”

“If you were a bother, I wouldn’t be here.” He has a point, but I’m still going to be a pain about this. “You don’t have to come with me.”

“I’ve been living on my own for years. I know how to deal with difficult people.”

“I’m not saying you can’t take care of yourself, but I want to be there. Consider me backup.”

“Thanks, Travis. The tour is tomorrow at ten. Does that work for you?” His eyes are on me as he nods. “Do you want to stay a while?” The question is out before I can stop myself. “I mean, if you have somewhere else to be⁠—” “I can stay,” he says. “If you want me to.”

Steps. Footsteps. Claudia. I shoot up, forcing my eyelids open, and bump my foot on the coffee table. “Shit,” I mutter in pain. Someone’s inside my apartment⁠— “You okay?” I know that gruff voice.

“I thought someone had broken in.” The couch groans under Travis’s weight as he sits. “Sorry I woke you up.”

“Travis?” “Mm.” “Is this…. Um, is this your jacket?” “You looked cold,” he explains.

“What time is it?” I mumble, placing the jacket on the back of the couch. “Around three.” I sit up, alarmed. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. You probably wanted to go home. I’m sorry I kept you here.” But the huge man beside me grumbles, “Go back to sleep, Allie.” “But—”

“There’s nobody waiting for me at home.”

have two dogs, but I keep the barn open, and their doghouses and food are in there, so they’ll be fine. I have an alarm system and cameras. If you want me to stay ju...

“What if I stay awake? Will you go to sleep then?” I know the answer before he says it. “No.”

“We’re making friendship bracelets.” Once more, I don’t imagine the grunt that leaves the back of his throat. Bear-man, indeed. “I don’t befriend my staff.”

“But you spend the night at their place in case there’s a break-in?”

“I’m not making friendship bracelets with you, Allie.”

“Well, I’m not tired anymore, and you don’t want to take a quick nap, so there’s little else for us to do except look at the wall for the next five hours.”

“Pass me that elastic cord stuff.”

“What colors do you want for yours?” he asks. His eyes are on the beads and not on my face as I say, “Pink and white.”

“Here, let me help you.”

my boss stays focused as he picks up a single bead between his thick fingers and stares at it. Just… blankly stares at it with so much intention, I can’t hold in my chuckle.

“You laughing?” My lips twitch. “No.” “Could’ve fooled me.” I nod toward his bracelet. “Off you go, boss man. This can’t be harder than the Navy.” “Guess not.”

“I needed a change of scenery,” I say, my voice quiet. Start with the smaller details, build it up next. “I…” But I can’t.

“Where I grew up…” No. Bad start. “My family…” Nope. Try again. I clear my throat, hoping my voice doesn’t sound as unsure as I feel. “I wanted to be on my own. Find myself and all that. Get away from…from the pressure.” “You had a rough family life?”

“Something like that,” I mutter, not wanting to elaborate. So much for being authentic.

“For charity.” There goes my stupid, confused heart. “That’s amazing.”

“Do I need a reason?” “You don’t, but I’m sure you have one.”

“I never got any Christmas presents growing up. I don’t want other kids to go through that shit.”

“You have a big heart, Travis,”

“Those kids will have an amazing Christmas thanks to you.”

“It’s nothing.” “It’s everything.” I search his gaze. “What charity is it? I would like to donate something too.”

“My parents passed when I was a kid, and I went to live with my uncle. He didn’t have much, so I didn’t have much. I don’t blame him for not getting me anything for Christmas. Having food on our table was our priority. It wasn’t until after I enlisted and started sending him money that things started looking up, and he opened the bar.”

“I’m sorry you had it rough.”

“But thank you for telling me about it. If it’s any consolation, you’ve turned out pretty good, and Uncle Neil seems happy. You’re both great men.”

“You don’t have to drive me, Travis. I’ve got my own car.” “Not the point.”

“Careful, boss man. I might start thinking you tolerate me after all.” “I more than tolerate you, Allie.” My heart fills with adrenaline. What does more than tolerate you even mean? “Come on, get in the car.”

“I didn’t, but I’m not that tired.” And because we are apparently on friendlier grounds now, I ask him, “And you?” He shakes his head, eyes on the road. “Did you eat anything for breakfast?” “I thought about making an omelet, but I got lazy.”

“We don’t have to stop. I’m really not that hungry.” “You’ve barely slept, and you have a long day ahead. A muffin won’t kill you.”

“How much do I owe you for this?” “You fed me dinner last night. We’re even.”

but then I notice the white-and-green beads around his wrist, matching the pink-and-white ones I’m also wearing today. He’s wearing my bracelet. He doesn’t hate it or think it’s silly.

I’ve never been attracted to someone’s hands before, and it’s…definitely something. I wouldn’t call Travis’s hands beautiful, or at least not in the most conventional sense of the word. They aren’t smooth or delicate but calloused and rough.

“You know what? I don’t think this place is for me after all,”

“You kiddin’ me? You didn’t even see it,” he argues. “It’s not the apartment I have an issue with.” Mistake number two.

“You b⁠—”

“Careful how you speak to my girl.” The air whooshes out of my lungs. My girl. Me… Travis’s girl?

If he says something else to him, I don’t hear it—not like my head has much space left anyway after those two words. My girl. He probably means I’m his girl as in part of his staff. I shouldn’t overthink this. Travis is a protective man. He always makes sure I get to my car safely and has come to my rescue several times in the past year when I’ve had to deal with difficult patrons.

“Nobody talks to you like that and gets away with it, you hear me?” I don’t know how to respond to this version of him. The version that openly cares so much for me. I more than tolerate you, Allie.

“We’ll figure something out,” he adds, pulling out of the parking lot. “You’re moving out of that shithole.”

“Where’s Milo?” My mother didn’t look at me, fishing for something inside her purse instead. It was my father who said, his voice void of any tact, “He died.” Two words were all it took for my heart to crash and burn. Died. My best friend, our family dog of ten years, was dead. “W-Why?” My hands started shaking, and my eyesight got blurry. “You said he was okay.”

“He died?” Johnny asked, looking up from his tablet. There were no tears in his eyes. “Oh. Well, he was really old.”

“Was Milo scared?” Despite my tears, I was able to see her distinct frown. “How am I supposed to know that, Allison? He was a dog. He didn’t know what was going on.” Wetness rolled down my cheeks. “You didn’t say he was going to die.”