The house is dark when I get there—I'm not sure anyone is home. I enter through the garage, using the code, and Arcadia meets me at the door when I step inside. I drop my backpack on the ground and then fall to my knees, throw my arms around my dog's neck, and cry, salty tears stinging the left side of my face.
Nolan flips on the living room light. I didn't even know he was in there—if I'd seen or heard him, I probably would have screamed.
"Saige? Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine, sorry. Come on, Arcadia."
"What the fuck happened to your face?"
"I fell."
He narrows his eyes. "Whatreallyhappened? If someone did this to you—"
"I really did fall. I thought someone was following me, and I got freaked out, ran into someone else, and fell face-first into the street."
"You're bleeding. Let me help you."
"It's okay; I've got it." I realize the blood from my elbow is running down my arm and awkwardly cover it with my hand to prevent it from dripping onto the floor.
"I have a first aid kit in the bathroom upstairs. There aren't any bandages or anything down here; I'll go grab it."
"Okay."
Nolan heads upstairs, and I step inside the bathroom to clean up and assess the damage. My cheek is black and red. There's road rash around my left eye socket, still with a few pieces of gravel in the wound.
I turn on the water, rinsing my bloody arm and cleaning the scrape on my elbow before doing the same with my face. Once I get the dirt and everything from the road off of me, it doesn't look nearly as bad.
I dry my face, and when I look into the mirror again, Nolan is behind me.
This time, I do jump. "Jesus!"
"Sorry," he says, opening the first aid kit on the counter. "I didn't mean to scare you; I should have said something."
"No, it's okay. It's not your fault; I've been pretty fucking jumpy lately."
"That's understandable," he says, taking out some gauze and antiseptic.
"Where is…everybody?"
"Dax and Elias are at the gym," Nolan says. "They'll be back soon, though."
His proximity in the small space makes me tense. He told me I didn't need to be afraid of him—that he wouldn't hurt me—but there is something about his presence that still sets my teeth on edge. Maybe it's his voice—that low register I can practically feel when he speaks, especially when he's mere centimeters from my chest the way he is now.
Or maybe it's his eyes—cold, dark, and devoid of emotion. Part of me wants to reach up, remove his glasses, and study them a little closer. But the other part—the bigger part—can barely move while they pin me in place.
I wonder what they look like when he smiles. If I'd pried Miles's eyelids open that night, would they have looked just like this?
That's a morbid fucking thought.
He presses the gauze to the road rash around my eye socket, eliciting a hiss. I barely stop myself from grabbing his arm, remembering that he doesn't like to be touched and balling my fists tightly at my side.
"You might end up with a black eye."
"I've had worse."
"Yeah," he says in the low-rumble tone of his. "I know."
Nolan discards the gauze and then moves onto my elbow. This time, I'm more prepared and manage not to flinch.
