Lost in a Moment (Trials of Fear Book 4) Read online

  Impatiently shifting between my feet and threading my fingers through my messy curls, pushing them off my forehead as my focus jumped from corner to corner, I took in all the prominent obstacles I’d never noticed before today.

  …And the storefront was immaculate compared to my apartment. Mostly because Maria ensured it stayed that way.

  There were displays along every wall and inside both front windows. A maze of glass showcases were expertly aligned in the middle of the main room, accessible on every side with rare, unusual antiques tucked behind glass to be seen and not touched. The walkways were narrow and winding. They didn’t follow a set pattern but had never triggered a sense of disorder in my brain. Of course, if Gray was to be believed, the chaotic organization inside my shop reflected the inside of my head perfectly.

  Shelves climbed the walls, displaying rarities that went back thousands of years. Plaques were affixed in front of most items, explaining their origins.

  Three rooms branched off the main room. The Red Room, Yellow Room, and Green Room. Like everything in my life, there was no particular reason for the color labels, nor were the standards for what they contained. It was simply a chaotic collection of antiques and oddities tightly stuffed into showrooms.

  There were malformed animals that had been taxidermied—like Hilda, my two-headed cow, and Morrice, my new cyclops dog—large jars filled with formaldehyde and animal fetuses or reptiles, rarities that were hundreds or thousands of years old and carried unbelievable stories behind their histories. It was my life’s passion to seek out and find only the most incredible, jaw-dropping pieces to display in my shop. Such as the two-hundred-year-old witch potion collection I’d bought two years back. Each “potion” jar contained real bones and petrified insects of the time. Perfectly preserved.

  Apart from the array of strange things littering the shelves and display cases, there were hundreds of antiques all over the shop. Each item tenderly cared for and preserved. I may have clutter issues, but I wasn’t careless.

  “What’s up, boss?” Maria said as the door chimes indicated the small family’s departure.

  Blowing out a breath, I met Maria’s gaze as she came from the gift shop toward me. Her black dreads hung down the middle of her back and over her bare, slender shoulders. Black liner and lipstick accented her pale skin and jade-colored eyes. She wore a black, goth-style dress with spaghetti straps and a strip of mesh around the middle that showed off her navel piercing and ink. Her arms were tattooed as well, and she sported a dainty nose ring on the left side. If she wasn’t wearing black boots with two-inch heels, she would have barely been taller than my armpits.

  “I have a really big problem.”

  She quirked a painted-on eyebrow. “And…”

  “Gray gets discharged from the hospital tomorrow, and I kinda told him he could come stay with me for a couple months while he got back on his feet. Foot! Dammit.” I slapped a hand over my mouth, my eyes widening. “That’s not even a little funny. Don’t tell him I said that.”

  “Wait. Hold up. Gray is coming to stay with you?”

  “Don’t say it like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “With disbelief. Like it’s not true, and I’m kidding.”

  “You are kidding though, aren’t you?”

  “I’m not.”

  Her black lips parted a fraction, and she blinked as though waiting for the punchline.

  “He had nowhere to go and no one else to help him unless you count his parents who live in Winnipeg. If you had any idea how he grew up, you’d understand why that was a huge-ass no-no.”

  “But… Beck.” She thumbed over her shoulder toward the backroom and the stairs where I’d come from a minute before. “He’s gonna stay there? With you? Upstairs?”

  “Yes.”

  “The man who just had his leg amputated? Our Gray?”

  “Yes.”

  She closed our distance and rubbed my arm. The gesture was patronizing, and I narrowed my eyes before she spoke. “Sweetheart, I’m gonna say this as nicely as I can, but have you fucking seen your apartment?”

  I brushed her arm away and scowled. “Yes, I know. I have a lot of stuff.”

  She snorted and mumbled, “A lot of stuff,” like she didn’t quite understand the description.

  “Shut up. That’s why I need your help. Are you doing anything after work?”

  “No, but, he’s coming tomorrow?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t think a week would be long enough to find your floor never mind twelve hours.”

  “It’s not that… bad.” The words got caught in my throat as I pictured the layout of my apartment. “Okay, it is that bad, but we can make it better. Can’t we?”

  Doubt set in as I realized I didn’t know where I’d put everything.

  “When did you find out he was being released?”

  “Um… last week,” I mumbled, doing my best to look innocent and cute. I batted my lashes as a stubborn curl fell loose over my forehead.

  Maria flicked it back with a finger and sneered. “You aren’t cute, Beck, so stop trying. I’ll help but only for a couple of hours. I have a date at eight o’clock, and I’m not canceling.”

  “You’re a lifesaver. I owe you.”

  “You better believe it. A raise would be epic. Start with that.”

  “I don’t have money to give you a raise.”

  “Start looking because you’re asking me to work miracles. That shit don’t come cheap.”

  We locked up shop at five and climbed the narrow back stairs together. The small landing at the top was barely large enough to accommodate the outward swing of the door, and Maria groaned as I backed into her to open it.

  “Problem number one,” she announced. “You better be available to help him get up and down these damn stairs and in this door. It’s a death trap.”

  I knew that. I’d thought about it plenty since inviting Gray to stay. He’d struggle on the stairs, and I feared him falling, but the banister was strong, and until he was more confident and stable, he would not leave my side.

  “We’ll sort it out.”

  The doorway opened into my kitchen. Maria and I stood looking in with mirrored expressions, seeing the whole thing through Gray’s eyes.

  The small circular table was filled with collector’s magazines. I subscribed to about a dozen and studied them neurotically, marking pages, reading all articles over and over while dreaming of bigger and better showrooms. Besides the magazines, there were two new boxes containing my recent purchase of diaphonized animals. There wasn’t a single available place to sit with a plate of food.

  A cat tree sat in the corner, the fabric around its base shredded. Random cat toys and scratch posts were also scattered about. A litter pan occupied the far corner, tucked almost out of sight. Boxes of carefully packed antiques lined the walls and spilled into the center of the kitchen, making the linoleum flooring almost invisible.

  The counter was lined with newspaper and filled with a deconstructed nineteenth-century French chandelier that I’d been cleaning, a book I’d found with a write up of its history, open to the page I’d been reading, and a vintage set of nesting dolls that needed some care before I could bring them downstairs. A bucket of cleaner I hadn’t bothered emptying sat in the sink, and the lemon scent still lingered in the air.

  There was minimal room to maneuver around the clutter and Maria sighed dramatically. “Where do we start? This is one room, Beck. One room. I’ve been in your living room, and it’s worse. I hope you don’t plan to sleep tonight.”

  With that comment, she whipped her head around, her dreads flying in an arc, and poked my shoulder. “Um… where is Gray sleeping? You have one, very tiny bed last I checked.”

  “You were supposed to feed my animals, not go into my bedroom.” And Maria had never and would never be a tick on my headboard of conquests. She was too much like a sister to me, and the thought was disturbing.

  She shrugged. �
�I’m nosy. But seriously, you are gonna share your tiny-ass bed with your gay best friend who’s probably been pining after you since puberty?”

  I flinched. “What! He’s not pining after me, and besides, it’s a double, we’ll fit… ish.”

  She adopted a smug grin, and I thought I caught her mouthing the word “whatever” as she moved further into the kitchen, dodging boxes.

  “I think your best bet will be to condense the mess because unless you’re willing to part with a lot of shit and can magically create an extra seventy hours of free time between now and tomorrow, you’re screwed.”

  “Condense?”

  “As in, pile the boxes on top of each other, clear surfaces, open up the floor more, do—” Her words fell away, and her whole body stiffened as she stood in the doorway to the living room, staring intently into the darkness beyond.

  “What?”

  She backed up in measured paces until she nearly tripped over an opened box of prehistoric animal bones I had been going through the other day. Her gaze narrowed on whatever she was looking at, and when she spoke, she didn’t move her lips.

  “He’s watching me.” I went to move forward but her eyes widened, and she squeaked. “Don’t move. That fucking cat is evil.”

  I snorted. “Ringo is not evil.”

  “He is preparing to launch at my face if I step into that room. I can see it in his eyes. He wants to murder me.”

  I marched to the doorway and glared back through the shadows directly at Ringo’s favorite spot on a bookshelf where he’d wedged his body inconspicuously, hiding in wait for his next victim. He did look like a psychotic serial killer cat when he stared like that. Nothing like the European Burmese he was supposed to be. The idea was to maintain eye contact, and he wouldn’t bother launching himself at you. The minute the cat thought he had the edge, you were as good as dead. Or shredded like the cat tree.

  Okay, he was a little evil.

  “Ringo,” I snapped, meeting his harsh glare with my own. “Don’t be an asshole. Maria is here to help us. You hurt her, and I won’t buy those treats you like.”

  Understanding his game was up, he hissed and disappeared among the shelf clutter. I entered the room and flipped on the overhead chandelier—this one a Victorian find from a few years back which I decided looked better in my apartment than downstairs. It was gaudy and tacky and oh so perfect, matching my eclectic collection of vintage furnishings.

  With the lights on and the cat appropriately reprimanded, Maria edged into the room, scanning for the furry beast before she could relax.

  “You’re safe,” I told her.

  “Yeah, for now. Until he knows I’m not looking, then all you’ll find is my lifeless body.”

  Chuckling, I removed George’s cage cover and was immediately greeted with a loud squawk.

  “Ringo did it.” Squawk. “Hide the body! Hide the body!” Then he started into his own rendition of “We are the Champions” by Queen.

  “Someday, the wrong person is going to come into this apartment, and you’re going to be put in jail. For life, Beck. I’m serious. And what’s sad, is your gang of freak animals will not take your side in the courtroom. George will be the first to sell you out.”

  I laughed at Maria’s assessment as I watched George flutter his green feathers and rock as he sang.

  “Nah, George loves me.”

  George had been in my life for five years. He was a Turquoise-fronted Amazonian parrot with a black beak, distinctive yellow coloring around his crown, and a hint of red on his tail feather. His cage took up a huge part of the living room since he was spoiled rotten and only got the best of the best and the biggest of the biggest.

  The cage was also an antique, French in design, and three levels made of fine wire and wood detailing. They didn’t make them like this anymore. It was filled with all his favorite toys.

  Ringo and George were arch nemeses.

  While George sang, I turned to the classic trumpet horned turntable and phonograph that sat on my vintage curio cabinet and set the needle to play George’s favorite record. He was a Queen addict, but I couldn’t blame him. The band was one of my all-time favorites, too—after The Beatles, of course.

  Music filled the air as we set to work… decluttering.

  Maria and I spent the following two hours “condensing” my mess. We worked to open up as much floor space as possible, carefully stacking boxes halfway up the walls and moving the splay of items I was diligently fixing and cleaning off the tabletops and counters, placing them back into their storage containers. I wasn’t sure we were making enough of a difference, but as long as Gray could maneuver around the apartment, I hoped it was enough.

  I made multiple trips down to the shop, putting boxes into storage—ones I’d meant to move a hundred times before but hadn’t. Maria organized my cupboards and closets so we could shuffle things around. Once the living room and kitchen were passable, we headed into my bedroom.

  Every wall in the small space was lined with shelving of one kind or another. Each shelf was filled to bursting with personal rarities I didn’t want to bring downstairs and share with other people. My wardrobe was overflowing with clothes, and the closet didn’t have room for more. It was one nightmare on top of another.

  Maria sighed. “FYI, you need professional help. This is not normal, Beck. They made a show for people like you.”

  “I’m not a hoarder. Shut up and help me.”

  “I think you don’t understand the term hoarder.”

  “I think I didn’t ask for your opinion. You will find no mold or mildew or rotten anything laying around. I have a lot of stuff, but I’m not disgusting like the people on that show. I take my garbage out.”

  She shrugged and paced around the room. The floor space was less crowded in here. She circled my unmade bed and raised a brow. “That’s a small bed.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “It’s small.”

  “We’ll manage.”

  “I applaud you for being open-minded. Most straight men would balk at sharing a bed with another man. Especially a gay man. A gay man who has a thing for—”

  “He doesn’t have a thing for me,” I said, cutting her off. “He’s my best friend. And anyway, this isn’t the first time we’ve shared a bed. I practically lived at his house growing up. This isn’t new.”

  Maria just smiled that smug smile she had before as she spun and took in the congestion. Gray and I had been friends since childhood. Why was this such a big deal? Was it a big deal? Was Maria right? Did Gray look at me like that? I considered it for a fraction of a second then pushed the thought aside. Not possible. I knew Gray, and he’d never once expressed interest in me like that.

  “So where do we start?”

  I blew out a breath and shrugged. It was getting harder to know where to put everything. “No clue. Let’s just… move stuff around and… tidy?”

  Maria covered her mouth and coughed, “Hoarder,” but got to work and helped me out.

  We made it… better. Somewhat. Once Gray was settled, I’d go through more boxes and take more things downstairs. Our displays could do with some switching around. Maybe I’d make it my spring task.

  I washed the bedding, ensured there was enough floor space for Gray to use his crutches, and emptied a few drawers into my already full closet so he had somewhere to store his belongings. Next, I cleaned him a drawer in the bathroom. By that time, Maria informed me she had to head out to get ready for her date. I thanked her and saw her to the door.

  “What time are you picking him up?” she asked.

  “Discharge is at ten. I thought I’d run him back to his house and help him pack a few belongings. I might need to do a store run for him. A big section of his house is inaccessible due to structural damage. I’ll know better tomorrow.”

  “Okay. Text me. I’d like to say hi once he’s settled.”

  “I will.”

  She opened the door and paused on the landing, looking down. “Oh
, and Beck?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Clean the stairwell, or you’ll both be on crutches.”

  * * *

  I arrived at the hospital an hour early the following morning and found a crowd of people gathered in Gray’s small private room. He was sitting up in bed, but knowing him the way I did, he looked stressed out. Grooves lined his forehead, and his jaw was tight.

  Gray’s parents were both there as was a nurse who was performing a series of final tests along with the man I knew as Gray’s physiotherapist. Everyone was talking to someone, and the steady buzz of chatter explained Gray’s look of distress.

  The moment I slipped inside the room and scanned the faces, Gray’s head snapped to mine. There was a pause. Confusion. Then his head whipped to the clock above his bed, and I could have sworn he lost three shades of color as it drained from his face.

  Only when his mother’s voice trilled over the steady hum in the room did he seem to snap out of it. He nodded a few times in her direction before turning desperate, pleading eyes on me, begging to be saved. I’d seen that look a lot from him growing up when his mom was being her usual overprotective self.

  “Thank God you’re here.” His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. “Take me home. Get me out of here. They won’t leave me alone.”

  I chuckled as I gave Vivian a tight hug and received a pat on the shoulder from Gray’s dad, Anthony. Since the medical professionals were surrounding Gray, I gave him a comforting wink instead, letting him know it would all be better soon.

  “So, are you flying out today?” I asked his parents as Gray’s attention was stolen by Christian and his nurse.

  “Today, yes,” Anthony confirmed. “We have a one fifteen flight out of London, so we need to hit the road soon.”

  Vivian’s forehead was in a constant state of crinkle as she eyed her son with evident concern, assessing his health, no doubt, and concluding no one was good enough to care for her son. “I don’t know why he won’t just let us take him home. He needs his mother.”

  “He’s in good hands. I promise. You know I’ll take good care of him,” I assured her.

  “Make sure he calls me every day. Every day, Beck. I’m not kidding.” Vivian clung to my arm, peering up with a mixture of hope and despair.