There was something on the other end of the line that sounded like a car starting, then a horn honking. “Sir, where are you? You don’t sound like yourself,” he said, and there was steel in his tone I hadn’t heard since I’d told him I didn’t want to grade the essay portion of the finals for the classes he’d assisted me with last spring. He’d nearly rioted and insisted I had to do it myself because he wasn’t qualified.
I stayed quiet because I had no idea what to say. Where was I? How did that question suddenly seem so existential?
“Sir? There’s a lot that needs to be handled. M-Fer. Hey!” Wind cut through the phone in a loud woosh that had me wincing, and there was more honking. “People think I know where you are. I don’t want to get too far into it, but I haven’t been staying in my apartment because it’s well known I’m your assistant.” He sounded irritated, but not more so than usual when we were talking about something he appeared to think I should already know. He had thattone. For such a young person, he’d learned how to guilt me nearly as well as my mother in a shockingly short amount of time.
I hummed.
He let out a little growl that wasn’t very like him. “I think I know where you are.”
“What do you mean?” I asked and glanced around the darkened bedroom.
He huffed. “Sir, I’m going to help you. All I ever do is try to help. You’re a mess when things aren’t bad. Of course you’re not going to fix this. That’s what I’m for anyway.” His words quieted down into muttering I couldn’t quite decipher.
“You’re an amazing kid, Lor, and a fantastic assistant, but you can’t help me. I wish you could,” I said sadly, “but there’s nothing for you to do.”
“Darn it. If I don’t help you, I’m a sitting duck here,” he grumbled.
The line cut off and I held the phone out and checked it, poking at the screen. My blankets were still warm and cozy, but a bad feeling sank in on me like a fog, or rather aworsefeeling, because this whole fucking day had been awful. I tried to call Lor back because I couldn’t imagine what he thought he could do to help me out of the quagmire I’d created. When that didn’t work, I dragged the blanket around my shoulders like a cape, picked up my phone, and went downstairs. For some reason I’d been cold since yesterday, and I’d only felt better with Cillian and Rowen holding me between them.
As I walked barefoot down the cool wooden steps, I wanted to crumble into dust, but I also felt like I should be trying to act normal. It wasn’t unusual for me to be out of whack in my own body, but it was unpleasant. For a couple of days there I’d been doing much better. I credited all the calmness I’d been enjoying to Rowen and Cillian, and now it had gone up in a puff of smoke.
Without much looking, I found Cillian in the kitchen standing in front of the stove. No matter how bad I felt, I could appreciate the baseball shirt that stretched over his muscles and made his broad shoulders even more mouthwatering than usual. His jeans settled low on his hips and made his ass and thighs seem touchable. He smiled over his shoulder at me as a gleaming copper kettle began to whistle on the burner in front of him, and he was fast to turn the knob off and pour boiling water into a red mug at the ready on the counter. Quickly he set the kettle back on the burner, cursed when it began to whistle again, and then moved it to a different one. He picked up the tag on the tea and used it to dunk the bag.
“I was just about to bring this to ye. Ma’s cure-all—Barry’s Tea.” Sunlight streamed in the kitchen window and caught in his serious brown eyes when he turned and ran his gaze along my body, as if checking to make sure I was all here. “What’s under that blanket, bug?” he asked, eyes crinkling with his smile.
“Boxers. I prefer coffee. White’s for weddings. I should have worn the black underwear, not the white,” I said and shuffled closer.
For a second he shook his head, and I could tell he was sorting through what I’d said, but I was having a worse time than usual keeping my ideas on point. That was part of the reason I’d been hiding in the bedroom. “Coffee. That shite’ll kill ye. Tea’s much better. I’ll make ye a builder’s cuppa. Sweet for the sweet.”
I had no idea what he was talking about. The stress he’d been carrying around since yesterday seemed to be less, however, and that was a bonus. I rolled with it and forced myself to smile back when he checked on me again. He went to a cupboard and took down a small china container with a pink rose on the front that surprised me.Who bought that?I stood staring while he dumped three heaping spoonfuls of sugar into my mug.
“Okay, I’ll give it a try.”
Cillian shooed me over to the island and dragged a stool around for me to sit on. I slid my phone to the center of the wooden top. With a flourish, he set the mug down at the spot, and I climbed onto the seat and huddled over the heat. My eyes had trouble focusing as I wrapped my hands around the hot ceramic. I cupped the mug and stared into the black tea. He kept a careful watch on me until I took a sip of the liquid, and then I did hum at the shock of sweetness. He nodded as if satisfied.
“Where is everyone?” I asked.
“On an errand,” Cillian said, very mysteriously, and I sighed.
“Do you happen to have a notepad?”
Cillian grunted and went to a drawer at the end of the counter, pulling out a small yellow pad and a red pen. He kissed me gently as he slid the materials in front of me, then went over to make himself a cup of tea.
“What are ye about?”
“Making a list of stuff I should get done,” I murmured, although the only thing I wrote down wasdecide what to do about the police.
“That’s smart,” he said vaguely from where he was working on his cup. He didn’t put anything in the tea, aside from the hot water, and dipped the bag. His shoulders were tense, and I hated that it was because of me. I’d ruined so much in such a short time. I sighed and returned my attention to my nonstarter of a list. Just to make it be less awful I wrotetake a showerso I could have something attainable to try for. That’s what my ADHD coach always said to do. Have realistic goals. I tossed down the pen and rubbed at my face.
“What are ye ponderin’ here? I’m sure yer ma will take care of all the funeral arrangements....” Cillian moved the notepad around and blinked down at it. He set his mug on the island and his chin touched his chest as he stared at my puny list, seemingly knowing about as well as I did how to handle all that.
“Don’t talk to them.” The heat of his scrutiny sliced at me as our gazes met.
“Maybe I should,” I said quietly.
“Ye can’t. Ye’re under my protection now. Ye go to the cops and it will cause no end of trouble.” A harsh breath breezed out of him and he pursed his lips. “Ye absolutely can’t.”
“I’m not ‘going to them,’ they’re looking for me! My office was literally blown up. They have some questions, I’ll bet.” He leaned closer and knocked his forehead against mine, but I didn’t back down. Really, there was no point in even having the conversation. “This is more of a when not an if, you know. They will find me eventually. Somehow.”
