Pops’s eyes soften. “Good.”
He leans back slightly, blanket still around his shoulders like a cape he refuses to admit he needs. “Now. Since you’re up and functional…”
I lift a brow. “Oh no.”
Pops’s mouth curves. “Can you make me tea?”
I blink. “You want tea?”
“Yes,” he says, deadpan. “Shocking. I’ve entered my tea era. Coffee seems to make my headaches a little more powerful, so we are moving on to tea.”
I snort, moving toward the kettle. “What kind?”
“The one Sloane buys that tastes like tree bark,” Pops says.
“That narrows it down to all of them,” I mutter.
Pops chuckles softly.
And for a few seconds, the house almost feels normal again.
I fill the kettle, set it on the stove, and move carefully—because my knee hates me, because the brace is stiff, because everything takes longer now.
Pops watches without speaking, but I can feel his eyes on me.
When the water starts to heat, he says quietly, “How’s the leg?”
I shrug. “Hurts.”
Pops nods like that’s fair. “You getting stronger?”
“Jason says I am.”
“Jason’s a good man,” Pops replies.
“He’s a psychopath,” I correct.
Pops’s mouth twitches. “Sometimes both can be true.”
I smile faintly at that, then look away before it can turn into something softer.
Sloane’s door opens, and my pulse jumps instantly, just at the idea of seeing her.
I am so fucking fucked.
She pauses when she sees Pops at the table.
“Hey,” she says, her voice instantly gentler.
Pops’s eyes soften. “Hey, kiddo.”
Sloane sets the bag onto the counter and leans down to kiss Pops’s cheek. “You being social?”
“Against my will,” Pops says.
Sloane snorts softly, then glances at me. Her eyes flick to the kettle, then to the tea box, then to my ice pack sitting nearby.
She takes it in like she takes everything in.
