by Shae Banks
“Ryan?” I queried, raising my mug to my mouth again.
“Yeah. He’s in the catering corps. He usually comes back mid-morning to walk Gunner, so he should be back shortly. I’ll let him know you’re here so he can keep Gunner on the lead.”
“Gunner?”
I was aware of how dense I sounded. One would expect my brother to have been forthcoming with information such as lodgers in a house we shared ownership of, but much to my frustration, I couldn’t explain our lack of communication. Words were a challenge for some reason.
Thom must have realised my struggle and took pity. “Sam’s dog.”
Dog. Perfect. “Oh, right.” It was then I saw a large dog bowl by the backdoor I hadn’t noticed the night before.
Lloyd had always loved dogs, to the point of bringing home ‘strays’ as a child. They weren’t strays and Mum always managed to reunite them with their owners, much to his disappointment. But with both parents busy working, we weren’t the right family for a dog.
Thom smirked. “He’s trained, ex-police dog.”
“So, where was he yesterday?” I asked, confused. If they were at work, then out for the evening, who was looking after the dog?
“He has a run out back. Didn’t he bark?” he inquired, sounding perplexed.
I thought back to the night before, but quickly shook my head. “Didn’t hear a peep.”
His mouth turned down in the corners as he got up and glanced out of the window. “Weird…” He trailed off, seeming to consider the reason for Gunner staying quiet, then continued, “Well, I need to get to work. Ryan won’t be long.”
His arm flexed as he reached for his half empty bowl and water bottle, and I swallowed the saliva pooling in my mouth as his veins popped. Forcing myself to look at his face, I tried to smile. “Thanks. I’ll—I’m—See you later then.”
Walking around the table, he placed the bowl gently in the sink and left the room without saying another word. I tried hard not to stare at his pert rear as he passed.
But I failed miserably.
The second the front door closed, I got up from the table and rushed upstairs, wondering what the hell had gotten into me. I hadn’t paid attention to anyone like that in years. To be doing so now after mere hours had passed since I’d left my husband seemed… well, it was wrong. Wasn’t it?
Wasting no time, I pulled on my clothes from the previous day, and went out to retrieve my case and small box of belongings from the boot of my car. I wasn’t being caught in that frightful looking state a second time this morning.
I’d just finished wiping down the kitchen—old habits die hard—when the front door opened and a voice commanded, “Wait.”
I flicked on the kettle and tried to appear relaxed as he stepped into the kitchen. I looked considerably more like myself than I had meeting Thom, with my hair up in its usual ponytail and the carefully applied, basic makeup I wore during the day. I’d chosen to wear a pair of capri pants and a comfortable top, slipping on some cream flats before coming downstairs.
The new man—who I assumed was the other lodger Thom had mentioned—paused in the doorway, surveying me as I turned around, and I was about to say hello when he said, “Lyla, yeah?”
He wasn’t quite as tall as Thom, and had a heavier build and dark hair. While clean shaven, there was a rugged look to him that was accentuated by his thick brows.
He lacked the tan Thom sported, and I remembered the mention of him working in the catering corps. A cook wouldn’t spend much time outdoors.
He smiled and his features softened, showcasing dimples carved into each cheek, his eyes crinkling slightly, before he glanced back out into the hall and raised his index finger. A small whine came from the hallway in response to the gesture and I realised he was communicating with the dog.
“You must be Ryan,” I commented, returning his smile. “Is that Gunner?”
He laughed a little. “Yeah. He alright to come in?”
I nodded. “Tea?”
“NATO standard,” was his reply, as he dropped his hand, apparently satisfied I was okay with the dog being in the house.
I carried on making the tea—his with a splash of milk and two sugars as requested—as the dog came trotting into the room. He was bigger than I expected—not that I spent much time with German shepherds—with a short coat that was more tan than black, and he made a beeline for me.
Expecting him to jump up, I braced myself, but was pleasantly surprised when he just sat down with one paw raised.
“He’s asking for attention,” Ryan explained, leaning against the kitchen wall with a mildly amused expression.
While not a confessed dog lover, I didn’t fear them. My issues were more surrounding the dirty paws and hair left lying around, but four years with that hellish cat leaving its white coat on my black velvet sofa had probably added fuel to that particular fire.
With the tea brewing, I crouched in front of the dog and held out a hand. “Hello, Gunner.”
He sniffed, then nudged my hand with the side of his head. Introductions made, I gently rubbed behind his ear then returned to the tea.
Realising I was done giving out attention, the dog found his water bowl and noisily lapped. I tried not to cringe at the mess he must be making. Would Ryan clean it up, or leave it for someone else?
“Do you have the day off work?” I asked conversationally, as Ryan pushed away from the wall and moved around the room.
“Nah, I’m going back in shortly. The doggo didn’t get his walk last night and he’s a shit if he’s left for two days running.”
I exhaled my relief when Ryan grabbed a towel and cleaned up Gunner’s mess. I turned to the table with both mugs and set them down. “He’s left alone a lot then?”
He waited for me to sit before taking the opposite chair.
Raising his mug, he said, “Thanks. Not too much. Thom usually takes him for a run after work when Sam isn’t here, and I share morning walks with Lloyd.”
I tried not to smirk.
“What?” Ryan asked, setting his mug down.
I shook my head and raised my brows. “Nothing, really. Just, you know, it all seems to be running with military precision.”
He grinned at me. “It’s drilled in.”
A quietness settled over the table for a moment while we both drank our drinks.
“So, what brings you home?” Ryan queried, as he tapped his fingers on the side of his cup.
I thought for a moment. Lie? What was the point? Tell him to mind his own damn business? That wouldn’t help, since it appeared we were housemates, for the time being at least.
The dog grumbled and flopped to the floor at my feet. He seemed quite happy there, so I didn’t try to nudge him away.
“I was ready for a change.”
He nodded as though he understood. “You’ll get that here.”
My brows twitched as I considered what that meant. He noticed and winked, then pushed back his chair with his legs.
“Thanks for the brew, I better get back,” he announced before I could respond. “I’ll put him out—”
“No,” I interrupted abruptly.
Ryan paused, a small frown line forming between his brows. “You want him inside?”
I smiled, then shrugged and looked down at my feet. “He’s asleep. Seems a shame to wake him. I’ll open the back door for him and he can keep me company.”
His mouth pulled down in the corners again as he tilted his head, then took his mug to the sink. He reached for a dish sponge and I was speaking before I even realised what was coming out. “Leave that. I’ll wash it later.”
With a single arched eyebrow, he questioned, “Is that why Thom’s breakfast mess isn’t waiting for me?”
My shoulder lifted in a shrug as I laughed. “I don’t have much else to do. He was in a rush for work.”
Ryan turned with a snort, leaving the mug in the sink. “Bet he told you I’d cook dinner too, didn’t he?”
Pulling my li
ps to the side, I looked back down at the dog and mumbled, “He might have mentioned something about it.”
He laughed and headed towards the door. “Well, I hope you like beef. See you later.”
“Have a good day.” It was out of my mouth before I could stop myself. It was said out of habit, but what shocked me was that for the first time in a long while, it was a genuine expression.
Ryan had been the second person I’d spoken to in almost two days. He’d been the second person to offer me a genuine smile, ask a question with real interest in my reply, and he made me smile.
I really did hope his day was good.
I picked up my mug to drink the last of my tea when he popped his head around the door and called, “You too.” He playfully glared at the dog. “And watch him, he isn’t asleep, he’s playing you.”
Glancing down at my feet, I saw Gunner’s ears twitch, but he lay perfectly still as though in a deep sleep.
I waited for the front door to close then nudged him with my foot. “Alright, what do you usually get up to when it’s just you and Lloyd?”
I wasn’t at all surprised when he got up and shuffled into the living room.
3
Lyla
I stood at the window with a piece of toast while taking another look outside, and spotted Gunner’s run off to the left. I made quick work of cleaning Ryan’s cup before I made a fresh cup of tea. Mug in hand, I left the kitchen to see where Gunner had disappeared to and what he might have his nose in, half dreading the possibility of him destroying any of Lloyd’s furniture. Thankfully, when I stepped into the living room, nothing appeared out of place or chewed up like it would have been had that cat been left to its own devices.
Thinking of that cat made me think of Francis. By now, he would have realised my things were missing and I wasn’t coming back. As I imagined his annoyance at coming home to find his wife gone, I was unable to feel a shred of guilt for leaving the way I had. The only problem I faced now was what he would do about it. It was still early enough that he’d likely be going through his morning paper. He’d gripe at not having me there to complete the morning ritual of incorrectly loading the breakfast plates in the dishwasher, or not making his tea to his liking, no matter how many times I knew it was made exactly to his specifications.
Sheer stubbornness to make my marriage last had been the main driver to keep me in that house despite Lloyd’s distrust of Francis. When it came down to it, though, I was a shitty wife who couldn’t produce what her husband craved most. In the end, I was simply a housemaid with a happy ending—for him, not me. Disgust rolled through me.
My wayward, dark brown curls bounced as I shook my head to dispel the dire thoughts. It’d do me no good to try and pick my old life apart. I’d left, that was the first step to a better me.
With Gunner settled on the opposite end of the sofa at my feet, I grabbed the neatly folded blanket off the back of the sofa and curled up in its softness while I got lost in mindless TV. I had no idea what daytime TV was like anymore because Francis hated it, said it was contrived to keep the plebs busy, while I’d always been too wrapped up in keeping his house pristine. It wasn’t long before I quickly became engrossed in some show that sneakily sends families in need away on holidays while they make over their homes and surprise them when they returned.
Having woken up so early meant it didn’t take long for exhaustion to set in, the dulcet tones of the presenter lulling me to sleep.
Low voices woke me from a sound sleep. Even with the crick in my neck, I felt oddly refreshed. The TV had been turned off and Gunner was nowhere to be seen. The smell of food reached me, and my growling stomach reminded me that I’d slept the day away. Aside from the toast, I hadn’t had anything else to eat.
On silent feet, I made my way to the kitchen. Something stopped me from announcing that I was awake, so I took a moment to silently watch Thom and Ryan. They moved about the kitchen like a well-oiled machine. The army and their training were likely the cause of them being in sync with each other, but something else niggled at the back of mind… there was an air of familiarity I couldn’t quite place between them. Not wanting to be caught ogling the pair, I cleared my throat and called, “Something smells good.”
“Hey, did you sleep well?” Thom asked, while he passed plates to Ryan.
Not wanting to get in their way, I leaned against the doorframe and answered, “I did. Thank you.”
Ryan placed the plates on the table, the cutlery already stacked in the middle, and I noticed the ending of a tattoo peeking out of his top. I couldn’t make out what it was, and my curiosity was piqued. Francis didn’t have tattoos, but he had some strong opinions on them. None were positive, but I quite liked them. They were personal. They told a story.
“We didn’t disturb you?” he asked, breaking into my thoughts, and I glanced up to see he held a chair out for me in offering, but it made me hesitate. The only time a chair was held out for me was at formal dinners with Francis’s business associates, I wasn’t given the courtesy any other time. As I sat, he pushed it gently under me, but he didn’t immediately move away from my chair, and instead his fingers brushed the back of my neck. When he stepped away, I suppressed a shiver from the brief contact.
Not trusting my voice to hide the effect he unwittingly had on me, I cleared my throat. “No. How was work?”
“Good.” He showed no sign of having witnessed what he did to me, and my traitorous body reacted further when his biceps rippled as he placed the casserole dish on the table and began serving the meal. Passing me food first, he waited for me to take it before he served himself and then smiled at Thom.
We settled into a comfortable silence for a moment, until Thom set his cutlery down to pour us a drink from the jug of water he’d set out. “Do you work, Lyla?”
The food settled in my stomach like a lead ball at the mention of work, which only served to remind me of my prematurely finished career. I worked my ass off to get into The Timothy Anchor Law Firm—one of the top five law firms in the UK—when I received my degree, only to leave when I was beginning to hit the peak of my career because Francis wanted to start a family. I pushed through the feeling of forfeiture to what could have been a gratifying career, not wanting to put a damper on the evening because Thom had accidently struck a nerve. I forced my tone to stay light, answering, “Not at the moment, but I’m hoping to fix that.”
“If I remember right, Lloyd told us you were a paralegal on our first deployment,” Ryan mentioned, as he grabbed his glass. His accent came through, sounding much stronger than it had this morning. The time I spent in the office had me contacting all walks of life from across the UK, which made it easy to pick up Ryan’s Birmingham accent. Although, his accent wasn’t as strong as some.
Colour stained my cheeks. Damn Lloyd. He was always proud of my career choice and told everyone who would listen for longer than five minutes how his sister was going to take the world by storm. He’d been livid when he learned I’d quit my job so I could start a family. He refused to understand why I couldn’t do both. Thousands of women in the army did, which was always his reasoning. It had caused an agonising crack in our relationship for a short while and only fuelled his hatred for Francis.
“Yeah, I was. Maybe I can pick it back up,” I murmured, taking a sip of water from the glass in front of me.
“Is that all you plan on picking up while you’re here?” Ryan asked, wiggling his brows with a glint in his hazel green eyes.
It could have been an innocent question, had Thom not smirked as he asked it.
How soon was I expected to take interest in other men? Was Ryan winding me up? It’d been a long time since I’d had to deal with Lloyd’s banter, and it felt foreign to have that same humour come from a stranger. Out of my depth, my cheeks coloured further.
“Wine?” Thom inquired, saving me.
Grateful for the change in topic, I nodded with a nervous laugh. “Please.”
“Red or white?” T
hom pushed his chair back and stood.
“Red with beef, Thom,” Ryan informed him. I wasn’t sure if he was being a smart ass.
Thom rolled his eyes. “Red it is.”
“I’d have paired properly if I’d had time,” Ryan added.
While Thom busied himself with opening a cupboard near the fridge, I gave Ryan my attention. He was sitting with his elbows on the table, watching me intently.
I’d become used to formal table manners at all times. Elbows on the table were a strict no-no with Francis, and I’d been berated many times for making that mistake.
Ryan clearly hadn’t had that formality drilled into him during his training.
“You don’t usually eat at the table, do you, Ryan?” I prodded, while taking a forkful of creamed potatoes from my plate.
They were probably the best I’d ever tasted, but I wasn’t giving him the satisfaction of saying it.
Ryan opened his mouth, but when no words came to him, he snapped it shut.
“No,” Thom answered for him, returning with a bottle and corkscrew. “We generally eat in front of the television, and then I take Gunner for his evening walk.” I tried really hard not to track his movements as he twisted the corkscrew into the top of the bottle, and then pulled the cork free with a loud pop, but it was damn near impossible.
“Sorry, it hasn’t had time to breathe.”
Thom, unaware of my ogling, poured me a glass of wine while I took a mouthful of what turned out to be ox cheek in a red wine gravy. Again, one of the best dishes I’d tried. “That’s okay,” I replied after swallowing. “I’m not fussy.”
Ryan winked at Thom as he filled both their glasses then tucked into his dinner with enthusiasm. With the bottle of wine emptied between the three of us, I took a sip and we ate in silence for a couple of minutes.
I kept my head down and got on with my meal, with the two of them apparently happy to do the same.
Ryan cleared his plate far more quickly than Thom or me, and I was painfully aware of him sitting there watching me as I picked my way through my own.