Trevor eyes me for a solid six seconds, mouth parted like he’s deciding what to say. Finally, he gestures toward my haphazardly chosen weapon.
“Were you planning on whisking me to death?”
I glance at the metal whisk in my still outstretched hand and decide to own it. “These little wires could do a lot of damage.”
To accentuate my point, I bounce the whisk against the side of my head a few times. Mortification streaks through me when a few pieces of Cinnamon Toast Crunch fall out of my disheveled hair. Banks stirs like he wants to chase the clattering cereal while Trevor’s chest expands with a slow breath.
His soulful gaze takes me in.
“I’m fine,” I tell him, my voice squeaking.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Those”—I use the whisk to gesture to his hazel eyes—“are calling me pathetic.”
It should be impossible, but his expression softens even more. “They aren’t.”
“What are you doing home anyway? Shouldn’t you be playing baseball in Atlanta?”
With that traitor of a teammate,my mind supplies. I try to cross my arms defiantly, but it’s a challenge while also holdingBanks and a whisk. I settle on fisting the whisk’s handle and placing it on my hip. Trevor’s gaze drinks me in again, hesitation apparent in his features.
“We had an afternoon game today.”
My forehead wrinkles as I try to run through my mental calendar. I don’t actually remember what day it is. It’s been a blur of distracting myself with pro bono cases and burning through the entirety of Marvel’s Cinematic Universe.
Trevor’s jaw ticks as he takes a cautious step forward.
“I’m fine,” I say again, convincing no one.
He nods, stopping when the tips of his shoes touch my toes. I’m wearing one fuzzy pink sock, my sweatshirt is stained with dried ice cream and leftover coffee, and I haven’t showered in days.
I’mnotfine.
“Everything hurts,” I admit in a murmur.
I have a heated blanket I use because I get chilly sitting at my laptop for long stints of time, but even that hasn’t kept me warm over the last few days.
“I’m going to hug you, okay? Would that be alright? You look like you really need a hug.” His focused gaze slides over my face.
I shrug because, honestly, I don’t know if anything will help at this point.
These last few days, I realized that I don’t have much of a life. I’ve never had any close friends, just cordial classmates. My parents always loved me so much, and there was so much for thethree of us to do on the farm that I never noticed I was missing anything.
After moving here, I threw myself into building a business and taking care of Banks. When Trevor first adopted him from Fur-Ever Homes, he’d been recovering from being abandoned on the streets and not being able to defend himself from other stray cats. He’d been incredibly skittish and healing from losing his ear and breaking his leg in a scuffle. Trevor and I also became fast friends turned cordial roommates.
While he was gone, Trevor texted me every day, but he usually does that for updates on Banks when he’s traveling. I also FaceTimed with my parents, who were very sympathetic about the breakup. I even thought about asking them to fly out, but I know they’d never be able to leave during planting season.
Other than that, it’s been me, my furry best friend, malnutrition, and pausing way too long on that blink-and-you-miss-it clip of Paul Rudd cleaning a wound on his chiseled torso.
Maybe Trevor’s eyes are right.
I am pathetic.
“Kenzie?” Trevor’s low voice brings me back to the room. “Can I hug you?”
“Sure,” I say with awhat the hecktone.
It can’t get worse, right?
