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“You don’t need to ask, Skye.”
With that settled, I step inside despite the anxious feeling that’s beginning to work its way inside me.
The first thing I notice is that this room is not at all like the office building where Tobias resides. Although I have never been in his residence, from what I gathered from the rest of the building, this is the opposite.
Where the building was cold and modern, this home feels warm and lived in.
It’s not traditional as one would think when they look at the façade of the manor, but it’s not sterile.
It’s the perfect transitional home. Wood paneling that’s been painted gray.
A black suede couch sits on the opposite wall of the Lucite desk. A clear swivel chair behind the desk.
Spotting a couch, I head over to it and then sit. My hands rest on the soft material.
“Am I allowed to call someone?” I ask him.
“It depends. Who will you be calling?”
“I wanted to call my office and—” I sigh. “I need to speak to my father.”
“About?”
My first instinct is to glare at Gideon, but then I realize that he’s just being careful, and after what we’ve just been through, I realize he has no choice but to ask this question. I temper my attitude and answer his question, regardless of if I want to.
“My father told me—” I stop. How much does Gideon know about Tobias’s and my shared past?
I narrow my eyes. “Do you know?” I keep it vague.
“That Tobias and you met before?” he answers.
“Yeah, but do you know how and when?” His eyes soften as he nods at my question. Compassion and pain are there.
“I know.”
“See, the thing is . . . I didn’t know Tobias was alive. My father told me he had died. I asked about the kid in the closet. What had happened to him? He told me.” I bite my lip, trying to stop myself from getting emotional.
Gideon lets out a giant breath, and I know his answer before he even speaks.
I can’t call.
It’s written all over his features. From the way his brows furrowed, forming elevens to age his face, to the way his body has stiffened. Shoulders tight.
“Skye,” he starts, and I lift my hand up to stop him.
“I know. I can’t contact him. Not after what just happened.”
“It isn’t safe. Not for you. Not for him and not for Tobias. Give it a few days.”
“Okay.”
With that out of the way, I stand from the couch and head back out the door.
For the next thirty minutes, I walk around the house aimlessly, eventually finding my way back to Tobias’s room. I crack the door open and let myself in. He’s still asleep. Still peaceful. I sit beside him and watch him breathe.
Thankful for the opportunity.
Hours pass. I kept myself busy after I was told I couldn’t call my father yet by reading a book next to Tobias while he rested. Eventually, my stomach told me it was time to eat with an angry growl, which brings me to the here and now. I’m going to make myself lunch. I’m not much of a chef, but I’ll have to do.
Maybe I’ll find more oatmeal in the fridge that I can heat.
“Is the patient sleeping?” Gideon asks me as I enter the kitchen.
“He is.”
“In all the years I have known him, I have never known him to sleep this much.”
“To be honest, before this, I would have thought him an evil vampire who never slept.”
“He just feeds off the blood of innocents.”
“More like feeds off the blood of his enemies.”
“That sounds more like him.”
We both laugh.
“What’s to eat around this place?”
“I can have someone make you food. We’re pretty short on staff right now as we had everyone go on vacation and are operating with merely a skeleton crew for safety reasons, but I’m sure someone can cook.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I can cook. I’ll just make myself at home.”
“You do that.”
Gideon stands from the table and makes his way out the door. I walk over to the stainless-steel fridge, open it, and start to rummage through all the food in an attempt to figure out what I’m going to eat. I settle on eggs. Those are easy, and I can’t possibly screw it up and burn down the house.
Pulling out the carton and a stick of butter, I then search for a pan.
This kitchen is huge. It could hold five of my kitchens within it. It takes me a full five minutes to find the pan and figure out how to turn the stove on. Apparently, the panel is hidden.
High-maintenance much?
Luckily, no one was here to see me fussing about. Although I am quite positive there are security cameras, something tells me they are probably not watching me cook. Or at least one can hope.
I crack the eggs and get to work.
