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He’s insane—absolutely insane.
“Someone needs to check you out,” I argue. “What if this comes back?”
He pulls himself up into a seated position, still holding my hand. “It won’t come back. I’ll be fine. I promise.”
There’s one thing I know: When you become a wife, you become responsible for certain things. For instance, scheduling doctor appointments and haircuts—not that I’ve done that for Van yet, but I know it’s coming. Why not start now?
“You’re going to the doctor,” I demand, “or I’ll chain you up in the basement.” I nudge his shoulder, and he goes back easily, proving that he wouldn’t be able to stop me in his current state. “Now, tell me who to call.”
“You did great,” Enoch assures me. “You saved his life.”
“And I almost took it, as well.” I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “I had no idea he was allergic to cookies. I added milk to the recipe to add moisture. It was in the refrigerator, for goodness’ sake!”
Enoch smiles. “He wanted you to have everything you needed.”
“Well, I need him to live and tell me he’s deathly allergic to milk products in the future.”
“You won’t have this problem again,” he tells me, patting me on the back as we stand in the kitchen with a cup of coffee.
Van agreed to let me call Enoch, who called a doctor friend, who came to check him out.The last thing I needed was Van dying in the middle of the night and Biscuit eating his remains.
“It takes Alistair a while to trust,” Enoch explains. “It doesn’t seem like he trusts you, but he does. He would never let you live here if he didn’t.”
I don’t know how Enoch can be so sure. “He threatens to chain me up in the basement all the time. I think that’s pretty damning evidence that he doesn’t trust me.”
“Psh, that’s how he communicates love. Don’t let him scare you off.”
If he didn’t scare me off with the arson and stalking, he most definitely wouldn’t scare me now. “I won’t. I just wish he would open up to me more.”
I don’t know if Enoch is aware of the terms of our arrangement, so I don’t elaborate. As far as he’s aware, we are simply two people in love, trying to figure out how to navigate this marriage thing together.
“Oh, my dear. If you only knew how my son was before, then you’d know that he has opened up.” The elder man faces me. “And we owe that all to you.” He pats me on the shoulder and turns to leave.
“Where are you going?”
No way is my husband going to let me live after this. I need a witness or at least a referee.
Enoch flashes me a comforting smile. “You’ll be fine.”
I’m starting to think Enoch has no clue who my husband is. “Okay, if you say so.”
“I say so. My son will not harm a hair on your head.”
He sounds so sure of Van’s nature that I don’t argue, even though I am highly skeptical. “Will you stop by in the morning?”
At least so my sister has a body to bury, in case you’re wrong.
“Sure. How’s brunch sound?”
Like long enough for Biscuit to chew off my cold, dead finger. “Maybe a little earlier. Like in an hour?”
A deep chuckle goes through the old man. “I can see why he loves you so much.”
Huh? “He loves me because I’m paranoid?”
“No,” he corrects. “He loves you because you’re never afraid to speak your mind. You’d be shocked to know how many people are scared to stand up for themselves—especially to my son.”
Yeah, the man knows his son is freaking scary.
