Alex woke up to an empty house.

He blinked a couple of times, trying to clear the sleep from his eyes and the fuzziness from his brain.

Stupid painkillers.

He’d known they would cause side effects like this. He’d told Cam he didn’t need any but she’d insisted he take one. Had stood there with a pill in one hand and a glass of water in the other and waited, staring at him.

He didn’t know how to refuse. They’d just finished an intense conversation and he was raw. Not just physically, but emotionally, too. Everything ached: his ribs, his leg, his lip.

And his heart.

He hadn’t meant to strip back any layers last night. He knew better than to do that, had spent most of his professional years with all traces of the real him tucked carefully away. It wasn’t a question of preference or of wanting to be aloof; he’d had to behave that way to survive.

But something inside him had snapped. And fear had not been the driving factor. Of course he didn’t want her to call her detective friend, this Nate guy. Of course he needed to avoid the police—to avoid everyone, really—at all costs.

That wasn’t the straw that broke him, that allowed the curtain to slip a little.

It was her.

Cam.

The naked emotion on display—her anger, her shock, her hurt—had done it.

Even now, twelve hours later, his gut still clenched at the memory.

So yeah, when everything was said and done, when she’d for some reason decided to end their discussion for the night—and without calling in her detective buddy for reinforcements—he’d breathed a sigh of relief. And when she’d shoved a pill in front of him, demanding he take it so he could ease his pain and get a good night’s sleep, he’d put up little resistance.

And he’d taken the damn pill.

Alex shifted into a sitting position. The painkiller had worn off. His ribs hurt and the wound on his leg throbbed. But he’d properly slept for the first time in almost forty-eight hours, and that had done him a world of good.

His gaze drifted around the room, taking in his surroundings. Now fully awake, his senses ramped up to high alert and he felt the adrenaline kicking in. He knew where Cam was—she’d told him last night what she had to do that morning—and he knew he’d be waking up alone.

He just wanted to make sure he really was.

Alex swung his feet to the side of the bed. His feet touched the floor and he bore his full weight down, bracing himself for the pain he knew he’d feel in his leg. It was there, but it had dulled a little. He glanced down at the wound. The gauze was still clean, which meant the wound hadn’t reopened.

A good sign.

He limped toward the bedroom door. It was partially open and he slipped through the crack, sucking in a painful breath as his chest brushed the edge of the door.

Silence greeted him. He waited in the hallway for a minute, listening. Watching.

A lawnmower engine whirred somewhere outside. Birds chirped in a nearby tree. In the distance, he heard the train horn as it made its approach.

He took a tentative step. Then another. His footsteps were thankfully soundless, but he was sure anyone in the house could hear his thumping heart.

It took five minutes to walk the house, and another five for his breathing and pulse to return to normal.

He was alone.

He was safe.

For now.

Cam had left a pot of coffee in the kitchen. There was a note nearby.

If you’re reading this, get back in bed. Grab a cup of coffee and get back to bed.

Alex smiled. He went to the bathroom and found another note.

Stop walking around. Pee and get back to bed.

Another grin, wider this time. He did as her notes commanded and headed back to the bedroom. A longer note was waiting for him there, one he hadn’t noticed when he’d woke up.

I’ll be back by ten at the latest. Eat this if you’re hungry. I’ll get you more when I get back. There’s coffee in the kitchen if you really need it.

Don’t do anything stupid. Don’t make me regret trusting you.

There was a foil package of Pop Tarts and a bottle of water sitting on the nightstand. The bowls of soup from last night were gone.

He eased himself back onto the bed and tore into the first frosted pastry, swallowing it in three bites. He was definitely hungry. Thirsty, too.

And he was filthy.

He desperately wanted a shower, to brush his teeth, to physically wash away the remnants of the last forty-eight hours. He’d managed to walk around the house with minimal discomfort. A shower was probably doable. And he sure as shit knew it would be out of the question if Cam were around to put in her two cents on the matter.

He made his decision.

Grabbing one of the shirts and a pair of the boxers she’d bought him, Alex headed back to the bathroom. He turned the water on in the shower and then made his way to the living room to check the front door. He fiddled with the doorknob, making sure it was locked, and then peeked through the blinds to do a quick scan of the road. The lawnmower he’d heard was closer than he realized, just across the street, with a teenaged boy pushing it across a plush carpet of long grass. A man in the driveway was washing his car. Next door, a woman was unloading groceries from her car while two kids created chalk masterpieces on the concrete driveway.

They were normal people doing normal things. Leading normal lives.

And it was all foreign to Alex.

Life had been a shit show for him since the day he was born. For most of the kids he’d grown up with, actually. Their reality was a far cry from what the majority of kids and families in the United States experienced. Watching television shows or movies that depicted family life was almost like watching an alien species on a different planet. There was virtually nothing relatable about a nuclear family, about having meals together, about even having food in the cupboards. He’d never lived in a suburb, in an actual house with an actual yard. He’d not once drawn with sidewalk chalk. To this day, he’d never pushed a regular lawnmower.

Yeah, his normal life would be just as alien to these people as their lives were to him.

He returned to the bathroom and stripped out of his boxers. It took some doing to get himself up and over the edge of the tub, but the feel of the hot water hitting his skin made the fleeting pain he experienced more than worth it. The water rained down on him, washing away grime and dried blood. He tried not to think about the intimacy involved as he reached for the bottle of shampoo in Cam’s shower.

His breath hitched.

She still used Suave. It still smelled like coconut.

There was a part of him that rebelled at the idea of being in her bathroom, of using her things. He was a stranger, after all. He felt like a voyeur, spying on and soaking in the intimate details of her life. The shampoo, the bar of soap, the small bottle of body wash that he knew had been a splurge for her to buy. The razor, a basic blue men’s one. She wouldn’t pay the pink tax for a women’s razor; he already knew that wasn’t her style.

But another voice in his head reminded him that he wasn’t a stranger. They’d been out of touch for twelve years, but they’d spent the better part of three years glued to each other’s side. Formative years. Years that mattered.

He soaped his body, being careful as he ran the bar over his chest. His ribs still ached but the tightness had lessened. He was sure the painkillers had helped relax the muscles, which had in turn allowed the swelling to go down. The soap was not new, the shape more oval after having been cupped in Camila’s hand. It was easy to imagine that same bar of soap gliding over her body, down her thighs, over her chest…

His body responded immediately to the visual and he muttered a curse. This was definitely not a good place for his head to go. Not now. Probably not ever.

He adjusted the water so the showerhead shot out ice-cold water, dousing his arousal.

He needed to concentrate on the big picture, not on a fantasy that would never come true.

Grabbing a towel, Alex rubbed it over his head and sighed.

He just needed to figure out exactly what the big picture was.