Page 121 of Tempest’s Torment

"Why does it matter?"

"How many?"

I take a very deliberate sip of coffee and his eyes narrow. "Four."

"There are six."

"Four is more than half."

"That's not how physio works."

"Are you a physiotherapist now?"

"No, but I was sitting beside you when she told you to do all six."

Of course he was. He sat through the entire appointment with his hand wrapped around mine, asked more questions than I did, and then made the doctor repeat what signs he needed to watch for when we got home.

He's been vigilant and attentive ever since; he’s never far away, always watching without making it obvious that he's watching. I know he's waiting for something to go wrong, honestly, so am I sometimes.

"Fine," I say. "I'll do them after breakfast."

"All six."

"I've already done four."

"Then you've only got two left."

I glare at him and he goes back to his eggs. "Bossy bastard."

"Eat your bacon."

I do, mostly because he's right and I hate when he's right.

The bruising on my face is almost gone now. There's still a faint yellow shadow beneath my left eye and my wrists are tender if I catch them the wrong way, but my shoulder is taking the longest to heal.

The rest isn't as easy to measure. Some nights I sleep straight through, but some nights, I wake up with Lucy's name in my throat and my heart racing before I even know where I am.

Kai never asks me to explain. The night before last, he woke the second I did, pulled me against him and stayed awake until I fell asleep again.

This morning, I checked the front door twice before I came into the kitchen and he checked it once after me. Neither of us said anything.

I look across the table at him. His hair is still damp from the shower and there's more stubble along his jaw than usual. He's wearing an old gray T-shirt that stretches across his shoulders, and there's a tiny smear of egg yolk at the corner of his mouth that he clearly hasn't noticed. For some reason, that makes me smile.

"You're staring." He doesn't look up when he says it, just scoops more egg onto his fork.

"Yeah."

That gets his attention. His eyes lift to mine and one eyebrow rises slowly, while the corner of his mouth starts to pull upward. I know that look. I've just handed him something he's going to be insufferable about.

"I like looking at you," I tell him anyway.

His lips fully curve into a smile. Smug bastard.

"Yeah?"

I immediately regret everything. "Don't make it weird."

He leans back in his chair, fork still in his hand, and gives me a slow once-over that makes heat creep into my face. "I'm not making it weird."