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Tears sting my eyes.But I was…
“I’m so sorry.” Hana’s voice is kind, and I imagine her hugging him.
“I’ll be okay. I’m a big boy. But I have to get back to watching—you good?”
She exhales a little noise. “I’ll be better in three more weeks, once this little guy is on the outside.”
“Scar’s bad enough with only you. Add a baby boy, and I can’t even imagine.”
“It’s going to be wild,” she laughs.
“Get some rest.”
“I will. Don’t work too hard. I’ll be back with lunch.”
With that, she’s gone, and the thump of boots returns up the hall. My breath catches as the door opens, and seeing him is another smack of pain in my face.
His brow is lowered, and he’s holding a paper plate with two muffins. “Breakfast.”
He sets the food on the desk before leaving again. When he returns, he’s holding a paper cup of coffee and a TV tray, which he unfolds and places beside me. Then he leans down and uncuffs my right hand.
The proximity of him leaning over me, his warmth passing by my face, is almost unbearable. I want to rest my forehead against his neck and feel the heat of his skin, but I’ve lost that right.
He walks to the desk and sits, taking out his phone and checking for texts. I hesitate a moment, but the cramping in my stomach tells me I need to eat.
Using one hand, I break off little pieces and put them in my mouth. It’s warm cinnamon and smoky walnuts. The coffee is delicious, and I’m revived by the food and drink.
Dirk is in and out, keeping an eye on the cameras while keeping his eyes off me. His rejection hurts, but ironically, being near him also comforts me. He’s the only man I’ve wanted to be close to since my father’s murder.
Before noon, he uncuffs my hands and takes my arm. My breath catches when he touches me. It’s the first time since last night when he grabbed my face, and the strength of his anger seems to have eased some.
Still, I don’t speak as he leads me to the restroom and pushes me inside, closing the door. It’s almost as if he wants the wooden barrier between us, and I wonder if he aches for me as much as I do for him.
I’m washing my hands when I hear voices in the kitchen again, and I shut off the water. Closing the toilet lid, I sit, wondering if I’m allowed to go out there when visitors are here. Am I a secret?
Chewing my nail, I wait, listening as Dirk tells them what’s happening. “Scar texted he made contact. He set up a meeting, but they won’t see her until tomorrow.”
I wonder if Scar told Natasha he’s holding me prisoner. He had to have told her about the book. It’s the only way Natasha would’ve agreed to see him. She’s afraid of his strength, and her only muscle is Rick and possibly Marco, although I doubt he’ll fight for her.
The visitors, who I assume are Blake and Hana, leave, and he returns to the door, tapping shortly before opening it.
“Come and eat lunch.”
For a moment, I hesitate. Is he not going to handcuff me to the chair again? Opening the door slowly, I step into the hall and walk to the kitchen. I thought too soon, because as soon as I arrive, he slaps the cuff around my left wrist and attaches it to the arm of a heavy barstool.
“Okay,” I whisper, jumping at the sound that slipped out of my lips.
My eyes fly to his, but he walks around the bar, taking out sandwiches and soft drinks. He gives me another bottle of water, and I pick up what looks like a chicken salad sandwich.
Taking a bite, I have the flashback of a memory from when I was a teenager. Blake would make these sandwiches for us when we visited her condo in New York. It almost makes me want to cry, which I don’t understand.
He takes his food and leaves me, returning to the small office. My appetite disappears with his departure, and I pick at the bread. After several minutes, he returns, taking my paper plate and studying it for a moment. He glances at me without smiling, and I shrug. I haven’t been given permission to speak, and I’m not sure if it would be worse to try and talk to him or to remain silent.
Turning he carries the plate to the refrigerator and places it inside. Again, without a word, he unfastens the handcuff from the chair, leading me by the metal restraint to the bedroom and hooking me to the small table on the floor again.
“I’m going to my place, then I’m going for a long jog.”
My lips part, and I’m about to answer when he leaves, shutting the door, and I drop back on my behind. Looking around the empty room, I see a king-size bed with a white duvet and gray sheets. Pictures are on the dresser of Scar and Hana, more of the little girl softball players, and one of Blake with Training Day.
