Lost in a Moment (Trials of Fear Book 4)

by Nicky James

  But, he was just that close. The warmth of his hand seeped through my shirt where it sat on my hip. His body pressed against me. I couldn’t stop my traitorous thoughts from slipping somewhere they shouldn’t. It wasn’t my fault. Whenever Beck got close, my mind and body rejoiced, even though I knew it would never amount to anything. Regardless, I absorbed those teasing moments whenever they happened. Even now when it was completely inappropriate and I was supposed to be concentrating on not killing myself on his stairs.

  This was a terrible idea.

  The worst.

  Unable to stop the impulse, I tilted my face closer and inhaled. Beck always smelled of sandalwood and antiques with a hint of cedar in the mix from the cedar wardrobe where he stored his clothes. It was hard to describe. Like a combination of the soothing aroma that came off old dusty books and the lemon-scented restoration cleaners he used when he brought in new pieces to his shop. It reminded me of the past. Of history. It was a smell that was present in all the old antique shops we’d visited over the years, yet it was distinctly Beck’s smell. I’d attributed it to him for years and couldn’t get enough. When it hit my nose, my body always went on alert and responded without permission.

  My diverted thoughts interfered with my climb, and I lost my rhythm, veering to the side in a terrifying attempt to fall. Beck kept me upright, pinning me tighter to his side.

  “Woah, no you don’t. No falling. You okay?”

  I blew out a tense laugh. “Yeah. Just… it’s awkward. Sorry.”

  “No apologies. Let’s get you upstairs.”

  The door on the landing was tricky, but once we were safely inside Beck’s apartment, I breathed a sigh of relief. Doing that on a regular basis would not be fun.

  Beck handed me back my second crutch as I scanned his kitchen. “I thought you said you cleaned.”

  “Shut up, this is spotless compared to last night.”

  Boxes lined the walls, stacked waist high. The table and counters were clear, but otherwise, his collections still occupied much of the free space. He’d cleared narrow passages I would be hard pressed to maneuver. On inspection, I had to agree, it was more ordered than the previous time I’d visited.

  I hobbled the few feet to the kitchen table and pulled out a chair to sit. As my ass connected, I groaned, happy to be sitting again.

  Ringo strutted into the room and jumped up on the table to join me. Whereas most people had friendly cats who were looking for a little love, Ringo was more interested to know who’d trespassed into his domain.

  The bastard sat across the table and pinned me with his evil stare that seared into my soul and promised ugly things the moment I wasn’t looking. I was always certain his little kitty brain concocted murderous plots that us unsuspecting humans knew nothing about. Stuff that would put a horror writer to shame.

  “I’m gonna grab your stuff,” Beck said. “Be right back.”

  Beck left again while I had a staring contest with the cat. He narrowed his eyes, so I narrowed my eyes.

  “Don’t look at me like that, you creep. You and I need to get along because I’m staying here for a bit.”

  So many unspoken things passed through his steely, unblinking gaze. I didn’t flinch and gave back an equally hard stare.

  “Did you eat George yet? Is that why you look so smug?” I cracked a smile and inched my hand across the table with caution. “FYI, I’m coming in for a pet. You don’t want it, you better fuck off right now because if you scratch me, I’ll shave you bald. Mark my words. Beck can’t stop me.”

  Ringo hissed and made a swat for my hand before skittering out of sight. I laughed. He was the most anti-social cat I’d ever met. None of Beck’s pets were normal, but it didn’t shock me. My best friend was a little abstract.

  I took my crutches again and got myself upright. With care, I moved from the kitchen into the living room which proved to be equally cluttered. Beck’s obsession with antiques and oddities had taken over his life. There wasn’t a single space that didn’t contain some relics or artifacts he’d won at an auction. It was a hobby that had bled through from childhood when he’d collected fossils and read non-fiction books about ancient ruins and the treasures people had found.

  All his furniture was antique with the exception of the few splashes of modernism here and there. Like his flat screen TV that looked absurdly out of place.

  In the far corner of the living room hung his prized, black forest trumpeter antique clock. I was there when he’d won it a few years ago. It had fine, bone-carved hands and was made of some rare fruitwood that had been intricately crafted into vines and leaves. There were double doors that opened every hour revealing the trumpeter who sounded a tune on an arrangement of four organ pipes. It was obnoxiously loud, and the definition of something Beck adored. It ticked ominously as I stared at it from across the room.

  I hobbled to the large fish tank that sat on the far wall in front of the big window that overlooked downtown. The daylight reflected off the water and the assortment of fish tank decoratives Beck routinely added.

  Balancing against the stand, I snatched up the fish food and pinched a generous amount from within the container.

  Of all Beck’s pets, John the fourth and Paul the third were my favorite—naming animals was not his strong suit. They were a quiet pair and didn’t plot anarchy like the other two live-in troublemakers. At least not since the battle of 2011 when Beck discovered bettas didn’t do well in a tank together and put up the divider. John the first had learned a hard lesson that day and had paid with his life.

  I opened the lid and sprinkled the food over the water’s surface. When they noticed the buffet, the two swam up and started munching away at their dinner. Their colors were brilliant oranges and reds with splashes of white in their feathery tails. I watched them eat until I heard the door slam in the kitchen.

  Beck came through with my two bags slung over his shoulder. “Don’t make my fish fat. I don’t want to hear them bitch when they can’t fit through the castle windows. And close the lid tight, or there will be a massacre again.”

  “Again?”

  “Yeah, Ringo had a feast last month.”

  “Oh my God!” I stared at the two fish nibbling at their meal then scanned for the hellion named Ringo. He wasn’t around. “So, which one?”

  “John the fourth. He didn’t even see it coming.”

  “So that’s—”

  “John the fifth. Isn’t it obvious? He’s a lot smaller.”

  “Dude, they’re fish. Honestly, I couldn’t tell.”

  “No worries. Listen, I’m just gonna pop these into the bedroom. I cleaned out a few drawers for you.” He patted the bags hanging from his shoulder.

  I smiled, but it faded fast. Instinct wanted me to jump up and offer to help, but I couldn’t. “Thanks.”

  Hobbling after him, I stopped at the threshold as he dumped my bags on the bed. The very small bed. The bed I would share with him for however long I was going to live under his roof. Warmth tickled out of my chest and slipped over my skin.

  It was going to take a shit load of self-control to hide my feelings, especially being in such close quarters.

  “Thanks for all this,” I said, entering the room and falling to sit on the bed beside my stuff. “I’ll try to be out of your hair as fast as possible. I’ll make calls about the house and find out how long repairs will take.”

  “Never mind that. You stay as long as you need to.”

  I didn’t argue. There was no point.

  Beck helped me unpack and set my things straight. When I suggested I was going to try and take a shower, Beck pivoted awkwardly, probably unsure if I was going to need help.

  “I’ve got this. Christian walked me through personal-care a million times.”

  He let out a breath and nodded, thumbing over his shoulder. “How about I make some lunch?”

  “Sounds good. I’m starving.”

  Once he was gone, I struggled to the bathroom and planted my a
ss on the closed toilet lid so I could undress. Everything was a struggle. Everything took ten times longer than it ever had in the past.

  Naked, and already exhausted, I took a second before pulling myself upright and shuffling to the tub so I could start the shower. A bath would have made more sense and would have been easier, but I’d never been one for soaking in a tub. My six-foot frame never quite fit right.

  As I clutched the wall for support, the stupid clock down the hall chimed the hour, startling me. Two distinctive dings. Two? I paused, noting what I’d heard but confused that it was already two o’clock. Hadn’t we just got in from the hospital?

  Convinced I’d misheard, I started the shower. Frowning, I noted that all the helpful hand bars from the hospital weren’t present in Beck’s bathroom. My self-confidence waned as I sat on the edge of the tub and swung my body around to get in. The towel bar was my only means of support, and I knew it wouldn’t hold my weight if I leaned on it too hard. It made the exercise of getting clean a lot more difficult than I anticipated. There would be no more quick showers in my future by the look of it. No more quick anything.

  Clean and done showering, I sat on the bathtub’s edge while I dried myself. A rap sounded on the other side of the door, and I flinched.

  “Gray? You okay in there?”

  “I’m fine. Just takes time. Sorry, I’m coming.”

  When I made it to his kitchen, I ignored the look of concern on his face. He’d made canned soup, so I lowered myself to a chair with a groan and closed my eyes. The act of showering and dressing had taken more out of me than I expected.

  The clock chimed the hour. Three.

  So apparently it’d taken me an hour to wash. Fan-fucking-tastic.

  We ate in silence. An ominous presence sat in the shadows, and I knew Ringo was close by. George chatted and whistled to himself from the other room, so I assumed Beck had removed his cover.

  “I have to run the shop tomorrow,” Beck said, breaking into my thoughts. “Maria has been taking endless shifts since I went to that auction. If I don’t give her a day off, I’ll be broke.”

  “I can pay you. I qualify for disability at work for a while. Let me help.”

  “We’ll figure it out. I’m not that worried about it.”

  “But if there is anything I can do.”

  “You can relax and take some time getting better.”

  I didn’t have the energy to fight with him. Being stuck in a hospital had already made me stir crazy. The thought of doing nothing for the following few months was not an option.

  Once we’d finished eating, Beck ran downstairs for a little while to speak with Maria, and I worked through some of my physio exercises. Christian had talked implicitly about the importance of performing the end-bearing exercises a few times a day to prepare my residual limb for a prosthesis.

  Since the kitchen and living room didn’t contain enough open space, I set myself up in the bedroom. When I’d gone through everything I’d been taught, I flopped back on Beck’s bed and closed my eyes.

  The clock had chimed five o’clock a few minutes ago, and the residual ringing wouldn’t leave me. As I drifted off to sleep, the organ pipes played in my head over and over, rushing time and feeding my anxiety even in sleep. My dreams were of a dark, timeless abyss. A place where I couldn’t escape. With a monster who chased me down. Despite any visual confirmation, I was certain the walls were retracting, crushing me and pinning me in a place I would never escape.

  Never.

  Chapter Six

  Beckett

  “Do you want to come up and say hello?”

  Maria shrugged on her black leather jacket over her black velvet bodice—the one that laced up the front and squeezed her breasts so tight they threatened to escape. It could have passed for lingerie, but knowing Maria’s style, she’d probably bought it at Spencer’s down the road. She’d paired it with black and white striped skinny jeans, that would make Beetlejuice proud, and chunky boots.

  She pulled her dreads from where they’d accidentally gotten tucked into her collar as she answered. “Probably not today. The poor guy just got out of the hospital. I’ll let him settle first. Maybe in a couple of days. Is he doing okay?”

  I considered our day, and the struggles Gray had faced. Falling out of the car, climbing the stairs, taking a shower—even when he wouldn’t admit to the difficulty of that particular task. His exhaustion had shown in weary lines over his face. I’d never seen Gray look so rough. Or down.

  “It’s gonna be a tough road. He seems troubled.”

  “Obviously. Wouldn’t you be? That’s why you need to be attentive and extra caring.”

  I chuckled. “I’m not his boyfriend.”

  “No, you’re his best friend, and that’s just as important. Be gentle with him. His whole life has turned upside down. Try to filter your jokes somewhat and watch what you say.”

  “If he thinks for one minute I’m coddling him, he’ll snap.”

  “You know what I mean.” She pinched my cheeks between her small hands and brought me down for a quick peck. “And don’t be a hero. If you need a hand, call me.”

  “Thanks.”

  I locked the door behind her and shut off the lights throughout the shop. By the time I made it upstairs, it was after six. The apartment was quiet, and Gray was nowhere to be found.

  In the living room, I found Ringo sitting in front of the fish tank while John and Paul swam right next to the glass, teasing and taunting him. Little did they know, Ringo was undoubtedly plotting his revenge. Ringo didn’t acknowledge my presence and continued to glide his head from one side to the other as the fish swam. Watching. Waiting. Biding his time.

  George was grooming and fluttered his feathers. When he noticed me, he let out a less than energetic squawk before returning to his task.

  Not finding Gray, I wandered to the bedroom. He’d left the door open, and I stopped at the threshold when I found him fast asleep on top of the comforter. One hand clutched his upper thigh while the other held a death grip to the collar of his shirt. Beads of sweat accumulated on his upper lip and forehead. A deep frown made grooves between his brows and he rolled his head once, whimpering and moving his lips. No words came out, but it was clear he was in distress.

  I approached the bed and sat carefully, not wanting to startle him. The fingers on his leg dug deeper, leaving stark indents in his joggers, and his knuckles turned white. Was he in pain?

  “Gray.” I shook him gently but was only rewarded with another whimper.

  He rolled his head away from me, so I tilted it back and patted his cheek. “Gray, wake up.”

  His eyes squeezed tighter before they struggled to open. He blinked a few times, confusion radiating from his dark irises before understanding took root, and his vision seemed to clear.

  He wet his lips and scanned the room. The sun was low in the sky, and the room was shadowed. “Fuck. What time is it?”

  “Evening. I don’t know. You all right? You looked like you were dreaming or something. Does your leg hurt?”

  He ignored all my concerns and struggled to sit up, scanning the room again. “You don’t have a clock in here.” It was an observation, not a question. Digging his phone out of his pocket, he verified the time for himself. When his eyes remain fixed on the screen for too long, I nudged his shoulder.

  “Hey. Are you hungry?”

  “Um… sure. I didn’t think I’d sleep so long. Is this right?”

  He tilted his phone so I could see the screen. I assumed he meant the time.

  “Yeah. You must have needed it. Come on, I have a frozen lasagna I can pop in the oven. Do you want a beer? I can run out and grab some.”

  He shook his head and shuffled forward on the bed until he sat at the edge. “I’m fine without. Not sure I should drink when I’m still taking pain meds.”

  “Okay. Come keep me company.”

  Something about his withdrawn posture told me I shouldn’t leave him alone with his th
oughts. He relented and followed me into the kitchen, scowling when I hovered too close. I couldn’t help it, his balance was off.

  As I preheated the oven and set the frozen lasagna on a tray, Gray made himself comfortable at the table. He twirled his phone in circles and obsessively pressed the button to light up his screen. He didn’t unlock it or do anything else, just stared at the lock screen display until it went dark. Within less than a minute, he pushed it again.

  I shoved the lasagna in the oven once it was heated and leaned on the counter, watching him. He was lost in his head, methodically spinning, checking, spinning, checking. Over and over. Was he waiting for a text? Gray had never been that person before.

  Although he had profiles for all the social media platforms out there, he wasn’t an avid participant like some people. He had all kinds of acquaintances but few people who qualified as friends. Days could go by before he’d check his accounts or respond to messages. He rarely posted anything.

  Spin, spin, check. Spin, spin, spin, check.

  Then the rhythm changed.

  When he pressed the button on the phone that time, he paused longer, relit it when it went dark, and continued to stare. Then he lifted his head and glanced into the dark living room a split second before my antique clock began its seven o’clock chimes.

  Gray’s jaw tensed, and the hand holding his phone squeezed tightly enough, I was concerned he’d damage it. By the time the chimes stopped, his breathing was uneven. His chest rose and fell in quick succession like he’d just finished running a race.

  I was about to call his name to grab his attention when he shoved his phone across the table with enough force it skipped off the end and crashed to the floor. Whatever spell had taken him broke, and he flashed a guarded look in my direction.

  “Oops. Dropped it.” He cut his eyes to the floor and his phone as he shifted upright and hopped around, clutching the table so he could bend to pick it up.

  Dropped it? I just watched you practically whip it across the room. What is wrong, Gray?