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I stiffened as two stunningly blue eyes met mine, dancing with tears and dawn light.
Not Melike.
Everything came slamming back.
The storm.
The Taylors.
Neri...
“Fuck, Neri.” I reached out and cupped her cheek.
Her skin was hot, and she flinched as I drew my thumb along her reddened jaw. “It’s okay. I’m okay. Crap, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“Say the damn word as much as you want.” I dropped my hand, swallowing hard. “I hit you.”
“I shook you. You didn’t hear me when I said it was time to get up. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“Stop apologising.” I cupped her cheek again, tracing the strike I’d given. A strike I’d delivered with my casted hand that was wrapped in hard plaster and struck like a rock. “I’m the one who should be apologising. I’m unbelievably sorry, Nerida. I didn’t know it was you. I...” I swallowed again, still in the fear-space of the night when everything changed. “I was dreaming and...”
“It wasn’t a dream.” She shifted away from me, nursing her cheek before jiggling her jaw and dropping her hands. “It was a nightmare.”
I sniffed and looked away.
Even now, even with her sun-streaked hair and heart-stopping blue eyes, I still saw Melike. Saw her glossy dark hair and terror that broke me because she was far too young to know such emotion.
“You’re right,” I murmured. “It wasn’t a good dream. But that’s no excuse to hurt you. I just...” I sighed and plucked at my cast. “Don’t touch me if I’m asleep, alright? Poke me with a stick or something.”
She half-smiled. “How about with a harpoon?”
“That will work.” I forced myself to grin. “With the pointy end.”
“Definitely with the pointy end.” Her half smile bloomed into a soft laugh. “Anyway, the pain is going. You only really grazed me. I have pretty good reflexes.”
“I’m glad. But you should probably put some ice on it.”
“Nah, no time.” She smoothed down her dress, this one with jellyfish all over it. “You’re awake now. Dad said you have twenty minutes to get ready. He’s left a spare toothbrush in the guest bathroom and a plastic bag for your cast. Do you need help unstrapping your moon boot?”
Shifting, I slowly stood and offered her my good hand.
Looking at it once, she pursed her lips and slipped her fingers silently through mine.
The faintest tingle between us made our silence seem painfully sharp as I wordlessly pulled her to her feet and severed our connection. “Moon boot?”
“That.” She pointed at the plastic contraption protecting my ankle. “We call it a moon boot.”
“I’m fine. I don’t need help.”
“Even undressing?”
“Definitely not undressing.”
Her cheeks pinked. “Just offering.”
“And I appreciate you looking after me, but at no point will I ever accept such an offer.”
Her eyes flared. “Never?”
