Scratch the Surface. Amy Lee Burgess

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      With the door shut and the only sound the forced air from the central heating, I found myself unable to fall asleep.

      Instead, I switched on the gas fire, poured myself a mug of coffee and drank it while I ran a hot bath liberally dosed with peppermint-scented bubbles.

      I lit the candles, turned off the lights, wrapped my hair in one of the fluffy blue towels and relaxed beneath the bubbling water.

      The warm swirling water produced a soporific effect, which washed away the early morning wakeup call, the stress of the trip, Murphy’s defection and the unnerving thought of having to face my old pack.

      I dozed off into an amorphous dream, but woke with a start when I heard a noise in the bedroom. I’d shut the door to the bathroom and I wondered if the sound had been in my dream and not really in my room, but then I heard it again. Someone had slid open one of the dresser drawers. Was it Kathy Manning with pajamas?

      The bubbles were gone in the tub and I was beginning to prune so I figured I’d been soaking long enough. I pulled the stopper on the drain and climbed out, drying off with the towel I’d used as a makeshift turban.

      As I tied the sash of one of the waffle knit robes around my waist I ventured back into the bedroom, hoping I’d given Kathy enough time to vacate.

      Murphy was sprawled moodily across the four-poster bed. One arm was curled around his head defensively, the other straight down at his side and he looked morose and frustrated. He’d taken off his boots, but he was fully dressed still and his mouth had a certain tightness that, over the past months, I’d learned to tread around carefully.

      Our suitcases were half in, half out of the open closet door. My purse was on the dresser with his wallet and cellphone.

      “I suppose that Allerton told you all about Colin Hunter,” he spat at me before I even got the chance to say hello.

      He made it sound as though I had eagerly lapped up the story and the unfairness of it took my breath away.

      “It’s none of your business, Constance, so I don’t want to hear one word out of your mouth about it.”

      When he called me Constance, he was pissed.

      “I don’t—” I began to deny any knowledge at all, but he interrupted me.

      “Shut the fuck up, I told you. I don’t want to hear it.”

      If I had been wearing anything but a goddamn robe, I would have left the room, left the house and him and his fucking attitude with it, but I couldn’t.

      So I retreated into the bathroom and slammed the door, locking it for good measure.

      I thought about taking another bath, but ended up sitting on the toilet, head in my hands, crying as silently as I could. Not since the night Murphy had nearly died had I felt so acutely displaced and alone. I wished I could go back to Boston. I wanted the Murphy who didn’t snarl at me back. How could I face Grandfather Tobias or my former pack, with Murphy in this foul mood?

      For the first time in ages I wanted Grey so badly I could smell his hair and his cologne in my memory. The way he’d looked at me with love written all over his face, the way his hair had been dark and long and I could run my fingers through it while we lay tangled in bed together.

      I could never touch Murphy like that—in bed or out.

      I’d thought I was okay, I’d thought I was good, actually, but no, I was a frigging mess, fragile and weak and rapidly disintegrating.

      The door knob rattled then, encountering the lock, Murphy was forced to knock. “Stanzie, let me in.” All the rage was gone from his voice. Frustration was still present, but there was also remorse.

      “Go away,” I tried to disguise that I was crying, but it was no use.

      “I want to talk about Colin.” He made his voice gentle and kind but that only served to make me feel worse about crying and terrible about missing Grey.

      “I don’t,” I yelled. “I didn’t want to talk about him with Allerton because I wanted you to tell me if you wanted to. But now I don’t want you to. I don’t care.” That was a lie, I did care.

      “You don’t know anything? You don’t know who he is to me?” Murphy sounded incredulous and dismayed, which boggled my mind because he’d obviously resented like hell the thought of Allerton telling me.

      “No, I don’t. And I don’t care. Leave me alone!” I swiped at my leaking eyes with the sleeve of the robe. It was very soft. I left a trail of mascara and dusky rose eye shadow in my wake.

      “Please unlock the door.”

      After a moment I got up off the toilet, stalked to the door and twisted the lock. I stomped to one of the sinks where I began to scrub my face free of makeup. My goddamn hair kept getting in the way, so I held it back with one hand and washed my face with the other.

      The door opened and Murphy walked in. I saw his remorseful expression reflected in the mirrors above the sinks and counter. He handed me a towel and waited for me to say something.

      Silently I dried my face, threw down the towel and walked past him into the bedroom, forcing him to step aside to let me pass.

      He dogged my footsteps. I dug my brush out of my purse and began to savagely pull it through my snarled hair.

      “That looks painful.” He winced as he watched me.

      “It is,” I agreed wrathfully, brushing harder. Guilt swamped me—guilt and anger.

      “What time is this goddamn dinner?” He made a disdainful face and retreated to the window, pushing aside the curtain so he could look out. While I’d been bathing, the sun had set. It was pitch dark outside and I doubted he could see much of anything but he still stared out as if fascinated.

      “Seven СКАЧАТЬ