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“And the woman?”
I remembered the person he had been trying to save. Her body had looked so broken, nearly unrecognizable as a human.
My fingers touched Ronan’s lips as they turned down simultaneously with the slight shake of his head.
No. She hadn’t made it.
I tried not to feel too upset by that verdict. After all, I didn’t know that woman. I told myself that I shouldn’t cry over the death of a complete stranger.
Despite this, tears welled in my eyes.
A soft meowing grabbed my attention, and I turned towards where Mof was curled up in Tam’s arms.
“My baby!” I cooed, and Tam set the squirming cat into my own arms. I was immediately assaulted with sandpaper-like kisses.
“Who the fuck are you guys?” A tiny voice screamed. “And why the fuck are you aiming guns at me?”
Tommy bolted upright in the chair, his blanket falling off his body. His tired eyes went from me to them and then back to me. He raised an eyebrow, slightly sardonically. He must’ve noticed the position I was in: sprawled on Ronan’s lap, with Calax’s arm still wrapped possessively around my waist, and Mof happily licking my face to death.
“Friends of yours?” he asked, amusement evident in his voice.
“Guys, this is Tommy. Tommy, these are my friends.”
Tommy blinked, grabbed his blanket, and closed his eyes yet again.
“Save the introductions for tomorrow. I’m fucking tired.”
Without another word, he began to snore again. The two men holding the guns - Fallon and Ryder, I realized - slowly lowered them with identical puzzled expressions.
“Who the hell is he?” Fallon asked.
Ryder added, “Whatthe hell is he?”
* * *
After assuringmyself that they were alright, I set out to find medical supplies for Tamson. He had been the most injured, though he promised me that he would live. I was beginning to realize that Tam thought that I was a tad bit dramatic. Just a tad, like Shakespeare level.
I had spotted a first aid kit under the sink in the upstairs bathroom, and I pulled that out now. Calax had let me borrow his phone for a flashlight.
I was scrambling to my feet when I spotted the figure in the mirror behind me. I nearly screamed, spinning around so fast I was afraid my head would fall off.
“Ryder, you scared the crap out of me,” I hissed.
He didn’t respond for a moment, expression drawn. His eyes wouldn’t meet mine, despite my repeated attempt at eye-contact. He stared at his unlaced shoes, the burgundy shower curtain, the dirt his shoes tracked in.
Everything besides me.
His lashes flickered against his prominent cheekbones.
“Ryder, are you okay?” I asked tentatively. Still, Ryder didn’t answer. His hand continually tapped out an unfamiliar rhythm against his jean-clad legs. Before I could ask him again, he glanced up, eyes wild with an undefinable emotion.
“I’m really glad you’re okay,” he said at last. I offered him a small smile.
“I’m glad you’re okay too.”
He looked as if he was going to say more - I wanted him to say more - before he glanced back down at the floor. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides.
Without another word, he left the bathroom. Escaped from the bathroom would be a better description. He ran as if he wanted to be anywhere else but there with me.
