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Speaking of explosions…
“Someone’s after me.” I glare at him. “Told you, man.”
“Bullshit. You left the stove on. Ceramic exploded. Happens to everyone.”
“Fuck you, Rook. I didn’t turn on the stove. We ordered take-out, for chrissakes.”
“And you accidentally turned on the stove. It’s a touch pad. You probably had a little gas leak, too. You’re not being hunted, you’re being absent-minded and clumsy. Nothing new there, pal, so will you quit with the conspiracy theories?”
“You’re an asshole.” Maybe I was wrong. He’s not putting on a cold façade. He’s a bastard through and through. “Can you smell any gas, huh? I didn’t turn on the stove. And I’m not fucking clumsy.”
“And you shouldn’t say things like that to people who’ve known you since you wore a fucking bib.”
I suck a deep breath through my teeth, trying to calm down before I deck Rook. It wouldn’t be the first time we fought and ended up bloody.
Not a good time. I try to center myself. I fist my hands in the cover, feel the mattress dip under my shins, feel the goddamn wound in my back throb and bleed.
Fuck. My. Life.
That calming, centering thing? Not working.
“So you two are friends?” Ray clears her throat. “Like, for real?”
“Known him since he wore diapers,” Rook says with a sniff. “Kept falling over and knocking over the furniture. Which is why I’m saying: clumsy.” He lifts his chin, daring me to contradict him.
“All lies,” I mutter, although I can’t remember my childhood. My parents’ accident somehow erased my earlier memories. All that’s left is
that night, and even that…
“He didn’t learn to walk properly until he was four.”
“That’s a lie, right?” Ray asks but I see doubt in her eyes.
Doubt about me. About my allegations. About my fears.
I still want to punch Rook, but it seems he got the first hit in while I wasn’t looking. My gut is a knot. What if he’s right? I’ve considered the possibility so many times.
What if I’m wrong?
With a grunt, I heave myself off her and swing my legs off the bed to sit on the edge. “I need to see my lawyers.”
“Easy there, dragon.” Rook gets up and checks around the door. “Wait for the nice doc. And here.” He throws my pants at me. “Your dick’s hanging out. Don’t give the man a coronary.”
“You think he’ll get a coronary from seeing my dick?” I pull the pants over my lap but I’m not sure I can bend over to pull them on. “Doctors see dicks all the time.”
“Dicks like you are one in a million. Dickhead.” Rook shakes his head with a snort and leaves the room, presumably to check if the doctor is here.
“You have weird friends,” Raylin says, scooting forward until she’s kneeling by my side.
“Tell me about it.”
She swallows hard. “Storm, you… You have a piece of glass sticking out of your back. Oh my God.” She covers her mouth with her hand, her face paling.
“I’ll be fine.” I reach for her, kinda awkwardly because my upper back—or the piece of ceramic stuck in it—hurts like a mother, and I put an arm around her, drawing her to my side. “It doesn’t hurt,” I lie.
She’s quiet for a few seconds, snuggling closer. Her soft hair tickles my nose. It smells of roses.
So fitting.
