Standing halfway in the door was Pete. He narrowed his eyes at us. I put on my best customer-service smile and said, “Good evening.”
Pete grunted. “Who’re you?” Before I could answer, his glare whipped to Scar. “You drunk again?”
“I don’tgetdrunk,” Scar snapped.
Pete gestured aggressively to the ceiling. “Then why’re you always stumbling around? You and that loud leg of yours.”
I felt Scar bristle in my grip, like a wolf raising its hackles. I placed my hand against his back and hoped it would soothe him. Instantly, he tensed, but didn’t say anything. He seemed to freeze.
“I’m a friend of Scar’s. He got a bit hurt, so I’m taking him back to his place,” I explained with another smile—this one a little more forced.
Pete took in this information, then waved us off with a grunt. “Just don’t make a lot of noise. Trying to watch TV down here…”
He slammed the door. Scar and I managed to keep it together until we reached the third floor before he muttered, “He’s such a dumb old coot!”
“Seriously, what is his problem?” I asked. “He seemed like he hated you for no reason. And you weren’t even swearing at him this time.”
“I don’t know,” Scar mumbled. “Everyone hates me, I guess.”
I paused. “What? That’s ridiculous, nobody hates you.”
He ignored me and pulled out his keys. As I felt the muscles moving beneath his skin, I realized my hand was still pressed to his shoulders. I slipped it away.
He’s warm.
The door creaked open. At first I thought the inside of Scar’s apartment was tidier than I expected, then I felt guilty for thinking such a thing. It had a similar amount of mess to my own, such as a jacket hanging over the back of the couch and a half-eaten bowl of candy on the coffee table. It lacked the musty smell from the lobby, instead smelling like beeswax candles and—well, likehim.
“Guess we’re here,” Scar said without looking at me. “Thanks for bringing me all the way here.”
“Not a problem.”
I stood at the door’s precipice with a decision to make. Did I go inside, or leave?
Judging by the strange, guarded expression on Scar’s face, he didn’t know which decision he wanted me to make, either.
My body moved on its own before I could choose. I stepped inside. Scar paused. He opened his mouth, then closed it. Like he was daring me to come any closer.
I wanted to meet his challenge.
“What are you still doing here?” Scar finally asked, his voice scratchy. He was on the verge ofsomething.My blood felt electric. A strange energy took over me, almost like a magnet was pulling us together—and yet at the same time, he was trying to push me away.
“Your ankle,” I reminded him. Before he could protest I strode up to him and leaned down to examine the injury. Scar froze again, the same way he did earlier when I touched his back to calm him down—like a wild animal caught between fight or flight.
“May I?” I asked him, my fingers hovering inches from his skin. His jaw tensed, but he nodded.
He sat down and extended his leg. I gently braced his calf in my hand, then used the other to examine his ankle. It was slightly swollen, but not twisted out of shape.
Carefully, I pressed my fingertip to where the skin looked bruised. “Does it hurt to the touch?”
“A little. It’s not so bad,” he mumbled.
Satisfied, I stood back up. “Good. I was worried you’d twisted it during the encounter with that man.”
I spat the words, not wanting to speak his name. The rage within me had died down, but remembering how Mav treated Scar made me angry all over again. My hands balled into fists before I quickly forced myself to relax.
Scar glanced away, as if remembering the incident upset him. I felt a stab of guilt for bringing up something that maybe he just wanted to forget.
Finally, Scar muttered the words I’d been expecting all night. “You didn’t have to save me from him.”
