When he was younger, his mom had decorated the room in a nautical theme. From the looks of it, he’d tossed all the boat and lighthouse décor. Now, the walls boasted some posters of bands and flyers for events coming up in the area.
I started tiptoeing around, but stopped short. Why am being quiet? No one’s home. Perhaps I was feeling a guilty.The little angel in my head whispered its disapproval at my dishonest snooping. But the little devil screamed its urgency.
Keep going!
I walked to his closet, and threw open the wooden doors. Anything of interest would probably be hidden in here. I still wasn’t sure what I was looking for, but at this point, I was interested in anything that would give me insight into his life now.
I closed my eyes at the sudden rush of Jared’s scent. Wind, rain, and man. I briefly ran my fingers over his shirt sleeves and sweatshirts before bending down to look for anything of consequence on the floor.
Shoes cluttered the bottom of the closest and a couple of shoe boxes filled with pictures. As I sifted through the boxes, running into pictures of Jared as a child, I realized not a single picture of me was among them. That’s not right. Jared and I were joined at the hip for four years before our fallout, and there had been pictures. Lots of them. I still had some. Had he gotten rid of his?
Placing everything back the way I found it, I closed the closet with more force than needed and spun around. Jared’s chest of drawers sat across the room, so I walked over and started sifting through the gas station receipts crumpled up on top. I noticed several were from Crest Hill, about an hour from our suburb of Chicago. Crest Hill? What would he be doing there?
A search of the drawers revealed nothing, so I walked to his bed and knelt down to peer underneath.
Jackpot! I drew out a shallow box with no lid that was stuffed with file folders and papers. Heaving it into my arms, I placed it on my lap as I sat down on his bed.
His bed.
Once upon a time, it wasn’t at all weird to be in Jared’s room, but now it was like being inside a theme park after hours: wrong, but fascinating.
Inside the box, I picked through several things, each more intriguing than the last. There was a legal document from Jared’s grandfather. He left Jared a lake house in Wisconsin, a piece of shit from the looks of the pictures, too. But the land was beautiful. Several more receipts revealed months of trips to Crest Hill spanning the past year. A court order for Jared to appear in municipal court for assault was dated shortly after I’d left for France. More receipts for meals and hotel rooms were thrown haphazardly in the box, and as I dug deeper, my hand grasped a thick, smooth folder at the bottom of the box.
But I released it and stopped breathing when I heard a door open from the hallway.
Oh, shit!
I stuffed the box of papers back under the bed and leapt to a small hiding space between the closet and Jared’s bed. I couldn’t hear anything now with the way my heartbeat blasted through my ears, but I got out of sight in just enough time. Jared walked into the room wearing one towel around his waist and drying his hair with another.
Why is he home?! I saw his car leave, and I hadn’t heard it return. So what was going on?
He switched on a table lamp, which created a soft glow in the room, and continued drying his hair. His long body moved to the window, where he placed a hand against the frame and gazed out. I watched him, wondering what the hell I was going to do. Any minute he’d turn around, and I’d be discovered.
His towel was wrapped around his waist and covered him down to his knees. My stomach felt like it was on a roller coaster, and my mouth went as dry as the Mojave Desert. The gentle light washing over his skin seemed to make the sporadic droplets of water on his chest glow. I had to blink away the desire to just sit here and wait for him to drop the towel.
There was no way I was getting out of here without him noticing. It was either let him catch me and be cornered or come up with some story. Before he turned around, I stood up from the corner and took a deep, painful breath.
“Jared.” My voice was low.
His head whipped around, and his gaze narrowed on me. “Tate?” He paused for a moment. “What the hell are you doing in my room?”
My hands were shaking, so I locked them behind my back as I inched towards him. “Well, I thought about what you said about trying to be friends, and I wanted to start by wishing you a happy birthday.”
Smooth, Tate. Really smooth.
His eyes shifted to the right as he turned over what I said, and I knew he didn’t believe me. I wouldn’t believe me either. It was a lame excuse.
“So you broke into my room to tell me “Happy Birthday” a week after my birthday?” His sarcasm couldn’t be missed. I was drowning in it and fighting for air.