AllFreeNovel
Share Us
11
A week later,I carry a bowl of stew down to Grant’s room because he’s still not supposed to be walking.
Overall, it’s been a good week. We’ve been putting the camp back together after the Wolf Pack attack and fixing up our garden there since it saw a lot of damage. Fortunately, we’ve been keeping all our chickens down in the bunker until we could build a proper coop for them outside, so they weren’t all killed or injured during the assault. The area feels safe again, and the mood in our camp is better than ever.
I should be happy. More secure. And I would be if I weren’t so distracted by my relationship with Grant.
The doctor said that in another week Grant can start limping around, but for now he’s confined to his apartment. To my surprise, he hasn’t complained. He hasn’t tried to ignore the doctor’s instructions. He hasn’t grumbled about the forced inactivity.
And he hasn’t made a single move on me.
On the afternoon he got shot, I felt close to him. Closer than I ever have before. I convinced myself he felt the same way and that it would continue. But he’s been acting different for days now. He’s quiet. Always polite. Almost gentle with me.
It’s confusing. And unsettling. I have no idea what it means, but it doesn’t feel like it’s really him.
I keep telling myself to be patient. He’s a reserved man by nature, and he’s spent years burdened with responsibility for getting us through an endless crisis. To do that, he closed himself off to feelings and vulnerability. Expecting him to change overnight—even if he wants to—would be unreasonable. Immature.
But still…
I’m not expecting a proposal or an earnest declaration of his heart, but he could at least touch me occasionally. Like he used to.
It’s not been helping my mood.
In fact, it’s making me decidedly cranky.
So instead of my typical cheerfulness as I let myself into his room—chatting about what’s happening with the rest of our people and making sure he has everything he needs—today I’m as quiet as he is.
I don’t want to bite his head off for no good reason—merely because I’m not getting the sex I want—so it’s probably best for me to keep my mouth shut right now.
He’s lying on his bed since it’s the only place in his apartment where he can keep his leg stretched out straight. I arrange pillows behind him so he can sit up, and then I move the tray of food onto his lap. His eyes never leave me as I get him situated and then putter around the room, straightening things up and changing the projected landscape in his window to a pretty little cabin beside a lake.
After a while, I get self-conscious, so I stop fidgeting and check his bowl. “Don’t you like it?”
“It’s fine.”
“Well, then eat it. We have way too much zucchini and squash right now, so we’ll be having them in everything for a while.”
“I like them.” He takes another bite of his mostly vegetable stew and keeps watching me as I pull the chair up closer to the bed and sit down.
Maybe if I’m sitting, I won’t feel so awkward and irritable.
It doesn’t work. I wait, but he doesn’t take another bite. He’s too busy pretending he’s not peering at me. “If you don’t like it, you don’t have to eat it,” I grumble. “But it’s kind of silly to waste food like that.”
His eyes narrow. For a few seconds, I think he’s going to get angry, but he doesn’t. He simply proceeds to finish his stew in a series of wolfish bites.
As ridiculous as it sounds, this manages to annoy me even more. With a slight huff, I get up, grab his now-empty bowl, and take it to the sink to wash it out.
I’m drying it and brooding to myself about why I did something so stupid as begin a relationship with a man who’s locked up as tight as Grant, when he asks gruffly, “What’s going on, Olivia?”
I whirl around and almost snap at him, merely because he called me by my name. I stop myself just in time.
He waits a few seconds for a response but doesn’t get one. “For fuck’s sake, tell me what’s happening right now.” The impatient demand comes out as almost a growl.
“Nothing’s happening. I’m just not in a very good mood.”
“Why?” His expression has changed now. He glances quickly toward the door and then straightens up on the bed. “Did something happen? Did someone hurt you?”
“No!” I’m seriously about to lose it now. An infuriating tear leaks out of my eye, and I have to swipe it away quickly. But I’m not sad. I’m simply fed up. “I’m allowed to be in a bad mood sometimes, you know.”
