We rode the elevator up to the third floor, Dean watching the numbers above the door go up, while I anxiously awaited the doors opening. The second they did, with that obnoxiously loud ding, I checked the coast was clear before we snuck along the hallway to the apartment.
I led the way, clutching my bag in one hand, house key at the ready, and my tattered sundress in the other.
Dean was a little more nonchalant about the sneaking. Apparently being a fighter made him really good at staying light on his feet as he strode down the hallway with ease. Impressive for a guy of his size.
Without a hitch, we reached the door. I slid the key into the lock and turned the handle in one swift movement, stepping aside to let him in before I closed and locked the door, taking a deep breath.
Dean was already a little way down the short hallway, casually taking in the apartment, while I ducked past him to get to the kitchen.
It was strange having him back again. This time fully conscious and upright as he approached one of the shelves by the living room window that was dedicated mostly to Kira’s plants. Some weren’t looking as vibrant as they usually did. He paused at one of the ferns and lightly ran the tip of his middle finger down the delicate stem.
Why he did it, I have no idea, but when I realized I was watching with my lips parted, I clamped my mouth shut and focused on looking through the fridge instead.
“We have eggs, bacon, and baby tomatoes,” I said as I crouched and gathered the food items in my hands in a precarious stack. “And bread if you want toast.”
“Sounds good.” His voice was closer, and I snapped my attention to where he was leaning on the other side of the counter. A lopsided grin appeared on his face after seeing how my body jumped. “Sorry— Need a hand?”
“I can manage,” I smiled, standing up again and nudging the fridge door closed with my foot.
“Where’s your housemate?”
“Long weekend away at Jones Beach.” I went to the stovetop, my back to him as I went about preparing breakfast.
“With man bun?”
I tucked my bottom lip between my teeth as I smiled, placing a frying pan on one of the hot plates before turning up the heat. “Aiden is with her, yes.”
“Huh...” He trailed off.
I fought the urge to look back over my shoulder as I cracked an egg into the frying pan. Aware that his eyes were probably on me. I heard him shift on the bar stool, the wood groaning beneath him.
“I’m sorry about the way I acted back then. After what you did for me.”
The night we met and the morning after, I realized.
I turned side on, keeping an eye on the food in the pan, and raised my shoulders in a shrug. “It's fine, honestly.”
“I was an asshole.”
“You were concussed.”
“Still not an excuse...” He brought his eyes up from the countertop, his eyebrows set in a frown.
“I accept your apology.” I offered him a small smile and turned my attention to the frypan, thinking. I only knew the vague details of how he came to find himself in that alleyway outside. It felt like forever ago. I chewed my cheek as I watched the bacon sizzle. “What happened that night?”
A heavy, sharp breath out, followed by a brief pause was the initial response, and then he said, “I was meant to pick up some cash owed to Antonio. That didn’t exactly go to plan.”
“Marcus Woods shot at you.” I looked back over my shoulder.
“I escaped via his fire escape but slipped and hit my head. The first thing I can remember after that was you.”
“And me rolling a giant box of garbage into you,” I added.
“That too,” he smiled, lopsided and completely refreshing.
“I’m sorry about that,” I cringed, turning back to the stovetop.
“I’m not—”
