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Chapter THIRTEEN

A knock on the door wakes me the next morning. Sun is pouring into the room by the bucketful, which means I slept really late. I remember that Electra spent the night, but when a second knock sounds I get up and see that she's gone. I peek through the curtains to see who is at the door, worried that it might be-

But it's Tyler, looking like a hip ad for Breckenridge-jeans and pale green t-shirt, his brown and blond hair shining in the sun. He has a cup of Starbucks in each hand and a book tucked under his arm.

I rush to the door and open it. "Hey," I say, blinking at the sunshine.

He looks stricken. "Oh, baby, what happened?"

Electra suddenly appears behind him. "What's your business, boy?"

He swings around with a bewildered expression. "I just brought her some coffee."

"Okay with you, Jess?" she asks me.

"Yeah. Electra, this is Tyler. Tyler, Electra McKinney, my neighbor."

He makes to shake her hand, but the coffee he's carrying prevents that, so he lifts his chin. "How do you do, Mrs. McKinney."

"Ms."

He lifts his chin again. "Ms. Got it."

"Breakfast is ready any time you are," she says, then turns to Tyler. "You're welcome to join us."

"Thanks, Electra," I say. "I'm just going to get a quick shower."

She nods and gives Tyler a hard look over her shoulder.

He raises his eyebrows my way.

"She watches out for me." I swing the door open. "Come in. I do need to have a quick shower. Do you want to have breakfast with us?"

"Sure." He hands me a coffee. "Did I get it right?"

I take a sip, and it's one of the six most delicious things I've ever had in my life. "Perfect."

"I brought you a book, too." He takes it out from under his arm and hands it to me. It has a cover made of blocky shapes. The author's name is Mary Oliver. "It's poems I thought you might like."

I can't think of when anyone has ever brought me a book before. I press it to my chest. "Thank you, Tyler. Seriously."

He's eyeing my mouth, which I can feel is really swollen. I'm sure I look like a clown. "What happened?" he asks again.

"Rick showed up last night. He used his key to get in in the middle of the night."

I've never actually seen someone blanch, but every single fleck of color drains out of his face. "He did this? Did he-"

"No, no. No rape or whatever it would be."

"Rape is when you say no and somebody goes ahead anyway."

I think of the anger in Rick's hands, the way he wielded his dick like a weapon, something he wanted to use to hurt me, not give me pleasure, but it makes me feel vulnerable. Too vulnerable. Irritated, I snap, "Look, I need five minutes to have a shower and then you can get all indignant, ok?"

"Sorry, I-" He lifts a hand as if to touch my face, then drops it. "I tried to call, but you never picked up. I guess you were still asleep."

"Or my phone is trashed." I point to the pieces.

"Fuck," he says. And again, "Fuck," very quietly. He looks at me, and his eyes are blazing with fury, making the tropical water shade even more intense. Bright patches of colors slash across his cheekbones. "I'm going to take a little walk while you shower."