My hands went cold. I reached across the table, my thumb tracing his brow. "Are you okay? Like a headache, or dizzy, or…"
"I dunno. It just hurts." He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again. "Can I go lay down?"
I nodded. "Yeah, of course. I’ll bring you some Tylenol, okay?"
He mumbled an okay, slid off the chair, and trudged to his room, his steps suddenly clumsy and heavy.
Nathan watched him go, then turned to me, the alpha mask gone. "You did good," he said softly.
"I don’t know if I did," I said, barely more than a whisper.
"He didn’t freak out. That’s a win."
I shook my head, staring at my cold coffee. "The headache thing. That’s not normal, is it?"
Nathan’s jaw flexed. "He’s not normal, Krys. He never was. I mean that as a compliment. He’ll be fine. Rissa and I will keep an eye on him tonight, if you want to go in to work. Or just go see Zaden."
I looked at him, all that steadiness, and felt a rush of affection that hurt in a different way. "Thanks, Nathan. But I think I’m going to stay in tonight."
He nodded, and the silence settled over us, but not an awkward one. It was the hush of old friends who didn’t need to fill the air.
When Nathan finally left, after promising to text if anything changed, after hugging me with his big bear grip, Bryce was already asleep, sprawled on top of his covers, one hand draped off the edge of the bed. I stood in the doorway for a long time, watching the rise and fall of his shoulders, willing myself to believe that he was really as okay as he seemed.
Just as I entered the living room, my phone buzzed with a text message. The screen said ELEANOR. A spike of anxiety flashed through me. I hesitated, then opened the text.
I’ve found a way to break the spell. Need to see you tonight. Important.
My hands clenched around the phone. I wanted to throw it through the drywall, but instead I stared at the words until my eyes watered.
I heard Bryce stir upstairs, a thump and a mutter, but he settled right back into sleep.
A minute later, Nathan texted.
Still good?
He’s out. Thanks.
Then I went to the bathroom and splashed water on my face, the shock of it bracing.
I texted my mother.
Come to the house. I’ll be here.
I read the message twice before hitting send. For a second, the kitchen was silent except for the drip of the faucet, and the clock over the stove ticking out the seconds between one disaster and the next.
I left the phone on the counter and went to check on Bryce, the smell of rain starting to drift through the open window, promising change whether we liked it or not.
The house grew still, every clock in it ticking a little louder. I wiped the kitchen counter twice, then three times, before admitting to myself I was waiting for the next shoe to drop. When Eleanor knocked, it was so light I almost missed it, the whisper of knuckles over wood.
I opened the door apprehensively. She stood on the mat, rain dampening her hair into threads that clung to her face. Her eyes flicked over my shoulder, through the living room, to the stairs, and then back to me.
"Come in," I said stiffly.
She stepped inside and stood just off the rug, as if she were afraid her boots would sink through the floor. She scanned the house, every corner, every dust mote, then finally looked at me.
"Where’s the boy?"
The boy.I was microseconds away from reminding her that he had a name. What was the point? I jerked my thumb up the stairs. "Sleeping. Headache."
