Whatever. Not my problem. Coffee is my problem.
I grab the coffee canister and immediately fumble it. The lid pops off, and grounds spill across the counter.
“Fuck!”
The cursing wakes Jalen, who sits up looking confused and rumpled. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Just being an idiot.” I’m scooping coffee grounds back into the canister with my hands like a civilized person. Some of it’s definitely contaminated with whatever else was on this counter. Whatever. It’s fine.
Jalen grunts and stands up, then immediately sits back down. “Whoa.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah, just... head rush. Stood up too fast.”
He doesn’t look okay. The warmth has drained from his skin, leaving it with a grayish cast, and he keeps clenching and unclenching his good hand like he’s working out some kind of cramp.
“Your hand bothering you?” I ask, trying to focus on getting the coffee maker set up and not on the fact that everyone in this house seems off today.
“It’s fine.”
That’s the second time someone’s said something’s fine when it clearly isn’t. Jalen’s a man of few words, so I’m used to readinghis moods in other ways. Right now, he won’t meet my eyes. His shoulders are rigid. He’s shut down completely.
I get the coffee maker going and lean against the counter to wait. But there’s a buzzing underneath my skin. Like I need to go for a run or lift something heavy or punch a wall.
The storm makes the run thing impossible, and we don’t have a home gym here, so I guess wall-punching is my only option.
Great.
Dax emerges from the hallway, and I immediately notice he looks as irritated as I feel. His jaw is set, his movements are sharp, and when he sees the state of the kitchen, he actually growls.
“What happened here?”
“Coffee incident,” I say. “I’m handling it.”
“Doesn’t look handled.”
“Well, maybe you should have made coffee when you got up instead of whatever the hell you were doing.”
His eyes narrow. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“I was checking the storm shutters to make sure we’re not about to get flooded, asshole. What were you doing? Besides making a mess?”
“Hey!” I snap. “I’m trying to make coffee for everyone, so maybe show a little gratitude?—”
“Gratitude? For spilling coffee grounds everywhere and?—”
“Both of you stop,” Malik interrupts, his voice tight. “Just... stop. It’s too early for this.”
Dax and I glare at each other for a moment longer, then he turns away with a frustrated sound, and I go back to aggressively waiting for the coffee to finish brewing.
What is wrong with us today?
We’re not like this. Yeah, Dax and I bicker sometimes, but it’s usually playful. Good-natured. This feels different. Sharper. Like we’re all one wrong word away from actually fighting.
The coffee finally finishes, and I pour myself a cup with hands that are slightly shaky. Take a sip.
