Page 22 of Shattered

“That’s not one rule.”

“Shut. Up.”

“Okay. Understood.” He held up his hands in mock defiance.

“I mean it. This is my space. My apartment. My rules.”

“Of course.”

He said it so agreeably I should have known something was wrong.

“Good. Now?—”

He picked up his duffel bag and headed toward my bathroom.

“What are you doing?”

“Unpacking.”

“I didn’t say you could?—”

Too late. He’d already flicked on the bathroom light.

I hobbled after him on my crutches, dread building in my stomach. “Axel, wait?—”

He opened my medicine cabinet.

“No. Absolutely not. You can’t just?—”

He started moving things. My three half-empty moisturizers were suddenly consolidated. My collection of hair products I’d bought and never used got rearranged. He was making space for his stuff with terrifying efficiency.

“This is my bathroom!”

“Shared bathroom now.” He set down shaving cream next to my razor. “We need to be practical.”

“Practical? You’re reorganizing my private?—”

He moved to the shower, started placing his shampoo next to mine.

That’s when I saw them.

My bra and panties. Purple. Lacy. Hanging on the shower rod where I’d left them to dry this morning.

Oh god.

Time stopped. My face caught fire. Axel’s hand froze mid-reach.

“Get out,” I managed. “Get out right now.”

“Delia—”

“OUT!”

I tried to lunge forward but the crutches made me clumsy. One caught on the bathroom mat and suddenly I was pitching forward, my injured ankle screaming in protest.

Axel moved fast—faster than anyone had any right to move. His arms caught me before I hit the tile, pulling me upright with the kind of easy strength that should not have registered in my currently furious brain.

But it did.