“On second thought,” he says, “you should eat more than popcorn, I think. We have some chicken in the fridge. I’ll make some mac and cheese to go with it, your favorite kind.”
Now it’s my turn to frown. “Kraft white cheddar?”
He gives me a knowing grin. “The one and only.”
“Thank you,” I say, wondering if he always has that particular mac and cheese on hand. Surely, he didn’t buy it just for me...right?
I shove away the thought.
While Wes readies the food, I curl up on the end of the living room couch, tucking my feet up under me. My eye holds a steady throb, though it’s not as bad after taking the Advil. My chin still stings, but the anxious hum beneath my skin is starting to calm.
In Wes’s house, I feel safe. I feel cared for. The air is warm, and the couch is comfortable, and my mouth starts to water asWes steps into the living room, a plate full of chicken and cheesy pasta in his hands. He gingerly passes it to me before draping a blanket over my lap, and then he sits beside me and plays the film.
After the first bite of food, I realize I’m starving. Still, I eat small, slow bites, trying not to stretch the skin across my chin with my chewing. When I finish off the food, Wes takes my plate into the kitchen, returning with a bag of frozen peas for my eye. I relax back into the cushion with the icepack pressed to my face and continue watching the movie.
At some point, I doze off, and when I jerk awake, the credits are rolling on the screen and the bag of peas in my hand has gone warm. Mildly disoriented, I glance toward the other end of the couch, surprised to find Wes’s head lolled back against the cushion, his eyes closed and breathing even. Carefully, so as not to startle him, I reach over to rouse the sleeping giant.
“Wes,” I whisper. “Hey. Wake up.”
He slowly opens his eyes, sitting up and glancing around in confusion. His hair is adorably mussed, his eyelids hooded, but when his eyes finally focus on me, they widen, and he jerks up straight. “Oh, fuck. I fell asleep.”
“So did I.”
He blinks at the TV, then looks back at me, his gaze narrowing in on my face. “How’s your pain level? Do you need anything? More ice? Water? I’ll bring the Advil down, so you can take it in the middle of the night if you need to.”
I give him a tired smile. “I’m okay, Wes. Thanks.”
He frowns at my face again, and I decide that I really don’t like frowny Wes. I much prefer the Wes who radiates sunlight from every pore. Still focused on my chin, he reaches out and brushes a strand of blonde hair over my shoulder, careful not to accidentally graze my neck with his fingertips. I shiver anyway.
When he speaks, his voice is nothing but a soft rumble. “It’s hard to look at you.”
His words cut straight through me, a sharp, violent twist, and my face grows hot. My eyes drop, and I mumble an embarrassed, “Gee, thanks,” into my lap.
Wes immediately realizes his mistake. “Shit, sorry. No, Ivy. I didn’t mean it like—I meant—it’s hard to see you hurt. It makes me want todosomething. Hurt someone. I don’t know.”
The pain in my chest eases a bit, but I still can’t meet his eyes. “As much as I’d love for you to sucker punch Alexis Cane, I think you might end up in jail for it.”
He inhales through his nose and exhales a long breath out of his mouth. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said all that.”
“It’s okay,” I whisper.
“Ives,” he murmurs. “Look at me. Please.” Slowly, I scan up his body until I meet his eyes. “You’re beautiful. You know that, right? A little bruising and some scratches don’t change that.”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I’m at a loss for how to respond because Idon’tknow that. I don’t know that at all. But before either of us can say another word, the credits finish scrolling, and the movie reverts to the TV menu, casting bright light over the room. I flinch away from the screen, squinting my eyes, and the moment (whatever the fuck it was) is broken.
Wes clears his throat, and his hands fumble over the couch cushions, looking for the remote. “Are you sure the couch is fine?” he asks once he’s found it, clicking off the TV. “The bed’s all yours if you want it. I just washed the sheets two days ago.”
My eyes droop, my muscles twitching in anticipation as I picture the cozy comforter upstairs, and I almost cave. I almost give in to my exhaustion and take him up on it. The voice ofreason in my head stops me from doing something completely ridiculous.
Don’t you dare go near that bed.
I clear my throat, sitting up straighter and briefly averting my eyes. “I’m good here, thanks.”
He nods like he expected that answer and gets to his feet. “I’ll bring you one of my pillows and another blanket, then. It can get cold down here at night. Be right back.”
As Wes leaves the room, I glance at my phone to check the time. It’s way past midnight, but that’s not what startles me. The five unread texts from Quinn kick up my heart rate, and I swipe them open.
Quinn:Are you okay???
