“Iwillbe.”
And there it is. That stubborn little edge buried under the drugs. It soothes me, and I lean back in the chair but don’t let go of her hand. “And youwillbe in my bed when you get out of here,” I say, sure she won’t remember how true my words are come morning.
“You wish,” she slurs.
I don’t tell her that I don’t have to wish when I know it as a fact.
Because Kira Noland won’t have a bed of her own pretty soon.
She’s not even going to have a house.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Kira
For a sister who was so worried about me and almost refused to leave when Detective Layton was here, I haven’t seen her in three days. She came by when I woke up from my procedure while I was coherent, but other than that, all I’ve gotten are texts.
Love you. With Caleb.
All good. REST!
Feeling better?
It’s… odd.
But I try to put it out of my mind for the sake of my heart. She’s probably just off enjoying my lack of parental supervision, which, as anxious as that makes me, I need to get used to. She only has a few months left of school, and then she’s off to college.
My stupid heart squeezes at the thought of being alone soon, and I quickly shake my head. I can’t think of things that get me riled up. I’mresting. Or, I’ve been trying to…
In Nix’s absence, Jax has been here every day—only disappearing sometime in the night to shower and change. He even sleeps here. In a chair. A chair that is so close to my bed that I can feel the heat radiating off him. That I can hear him lick his lips. That I can smell his cologne. On day two, there was the scent of smoke mixed with it, and not the tobacco kind, thiswas a cloying aroma not too dissimilar to that night in the woods with Marshal. It could only have meant one thing.
He killed someone.
He killed someone, burned them, and then came back to sit with me.
At least, that’s what I deduced. I didn’t ask because I didn’t want to know. If he killed someone and burned them and then came back here to sit beside my bed like a faithful guard dog, I didn’t want to put words to it. Words make things real. Words make my heart thump and my monitor beep, and Celeste give me that look that says,don’t you dare.
So I kept my mouth shut.
And somehow, in the quiet, something else has happened.
Something I hate.
My opinion of him has… shifted. It’s softened in a way that marks my brain as a traitor and my body a deserter.
It might be Caleb’s fault, planting that little seed ofit’s not always black and whitein my head. Or because every time I wake from a nap or come back from the rounds that Celeste makes me walk, he’s still here. In the same position with his arms crossed and brow furrowed, infuriatingly attractive glint in his eyes as he watches my every move.
And he doesn’t even say much, as if he’stryingto not upset me. He hands me water, charges my phone for me, andtucks me in. And it all feels… considerate.
Something I don’t want the guy who kills people for a living to be.
Because that’s wrong on so many levels, no matter how nice it feels when he holds my hand while I pretend to be asleep.
I know I should pull away when he does it, but I don’t want to. I’m a trapped, bedridden girl, okay? And during the day, it’s worse. I can’t stop myself from staring at his hands—the hands that kill—and wishing he would reach out more.
What the hell is wrong with me?
“You really don’t have anything better to do?” I ask him now, my voice not sounding nearly as annoyed as I want it to.
