Accolade

chapitre dix-sept

I stood outside the bedroom door that Warren had occupied since he had arrived. I contemplated turning away but I had mustered up enough courage to come this far and I gently knocked twice on the door. There was no turning back now. 

"It's open," came the low reply. 

I took a deep breath and opened the door. I was momentarily shocked because everything within the room was spotless. There didn't seem to be a thing out of place, and even the bed was neatly made. I remember when Warren was a kid and our mother had to scold him to make his bed or clean his room, and he had thrown a tantrum about it. 

My eyes trailed to him. He was seated on the window bench, which had been one of my favorite places to read during the afternoon or evening. One leg was propped up with a sketchbook resting across his thigh and the other leg hung off the side. He dropped the pencil away from the paper as our eyes met. 

I cleared my throat, "I'm sorry, are you working?" 

I remembered how he had told me that he sketched the tattoos before he performed them on clients. He had been working from home basically as he sketched designs and then sent them to his employees at the parlor in Florida so that they could continue doing business in his absence. 

"No," He replied and closed his sketchbook. He tossed it across the room into the bed and then he turned to face me, folding his hands together as he rested his elbows on his knees, "What's up?" 

I was not expecting him to be...so casual. I was stumbling over my words as I said, "Are you sure? I can always come back, it's not that important." 

"I can work whenever I want," He reiterated, an inexplicable expression settling over his features as he studied me, "Now tell me what you came here for or get out." 

"I was wondering..." I twisted my fingers nervously, "If you could take me out on your bike?" 

His eyebrow rose, as if he hadn't expected that. He took his time considering my request. Meanwhile, I stood there with anxiety running through every part of my body. What if he got mad? He always left when I asked him for things. I just wanted us to be close again. Perhaps not as close as we had been in our childhood, but some sort of connection that could carry us through our adult lives. 

I started rambling. "We could ask Anton for the security footage on the way down, and then we could stop and pick up the watercolor supplies that you mentioned. It wouldn't just be a waste of your time." 

There was no verbal response from him. Instead, he stood up and walked toward the empty dresser I had left for him. He pulled open a drawer and retrieved a leather jacket. I recognized it as one he wore frequently. He tossed it to me and the scent of leather invaded my nose, I barely caught it before staring at him. 

"It's extra protection," He said, "I have gloves and a helmet that you'll wear. Be ready in five minutes." 

He was actually taking me? 

I didn't utter another word so that he wouldn't change his mind. We had a breakthrough from his standoffish behavior when he first arrived but I didn't want to rush things and risk him withdrawing again. He had been nice and let me sleep on his shoulder. I went to my room to grab my wallet and slipped on sneakers. I was already dressed in jeans and a cardigan. 

Warren was already standing by the front door when I came out. I hurried to follow him. He had slipped on a different leather jacket that seemed less worn and newer than the one I carried in my arms. He must have given me his favorite. 

We rode the elevator in silence. When he hadn't pressed the lobby button, I opened my mouth to say we should stop and see Anton but Warren read my mind.