Read Online No Shelter by Robert Swartwood - Free Book Online Page B

of the people I’ve lost because they are dead now and I am not and I have to worry about today, about tomorrow, about next week, I have to worry about the next mission and how I can’t make any mistakes, I have to—
    A floorboard creaks, and Josh says, “Holly, are you okay?”  
    It’s such a stupid, pointless question that I want to ignore him, just stay where I am sobbing on the kitchen floor, ignore him until he goes away and never comes back.  
    But he takes a step forward, leaving the doorway and coming toward me, dressed only in his silk boxers. I wipe my eyes, start to sit up, find myself leaning against the refrigerator. I lean my head back against its cool surface, my left ear grazing the Universal Studios magnet my mother brought back from Florida last year.  
    Still Josh continues forward, the sleep completely wiped from his eyes, concern now on his scruffy face. He comes and bends down and places his hand on my arm, places his other hand on my face. Slowly, gently, lovingly, he wipes away my tears with his thumb.  
    And right then—right at that instant—I want to sleep with him again. Right here on the kitchen floor if need be, I don’t care. I just need the closeness, the warmth of another human soul, something to remind me that I am not completely alone in this world.  
    It’s why I called Josh last night and invited him over, Josh who by now knows the score and arrived within the hour. Josh who I went to high school with and who I have stayed in contact with the past ten years, always just casual friends, a nod and hello if we see each other in public. Josh who has been in love with me since eighth grade, who had more than once asked me out, and who I always turned down because even at sixteen I had never liked the idea of dating, of relationships, always seeing the entire process as a huge waste of time and energy.  
    So after Zane died—was killed, I remind myself—I needed something to bring me back down after every mission, my body so pumped up, my nerves on edge, and so I called Josh and asked him over and seduced him. When it was over Josh wanted to spend the night but I told him that probably wasn’t the best idea, he should go.  
    For the past two years he has known the score, not understood completely the reasons why I sometimes call him out of the blue to come over, but still he always arrives within the hour, knowing what to expect, having just showered and brushed his teeth, his underarms fresh with deodorant.  
    And right now, his hands on my arm, my face, wiping away my tears, I want to seduce him again, if not for the closeness than at least to get whatever else is bottled up inside me out. Because in an hour I will be going over to Walter’s to see the kids, I will see Walter himself, and I need to be focused and clear-headed and in control of my emotions.  
    But instead I take Josh’s hands, gently push them away. “It’s okay. Really, I’m fine.”  
    He stands back up, looks down at me with a frown.  
    “It’s just been a really stressful past couple days.” I hold out a hand and he helps me up, and then I look around the kitchen again. “Want some coffee?”  
    A little while later, after having showered and gotten dressed, I come back into the kitchen to find Josh washing my dishes. He’s put back on his jeans and T-shirt, his white socks with the gold toes, and he’s listening to The Today Show turned up on the TV in the next room.  
    “How does my face look?”  
    He turns, gives me a squint, tilts his head back and forth a couple times. “Pretty good.”  
    “Liar.”  
    The story I had given him last night was one of the kids shattered a glass Friday afternoon, one of the shards hitting my cheek and cutting me open.  
    I look around the kitchen, see that Josh has done an amazing job of cleaning it up. For a bartender/musician, he should consider doing housecleaning part time.  
    I have to leave in ten minutes to beat the traffic into