Bennett: Sorry
I don’t have enough energy for a snarky comeback. Two seconds later, there’s a knock on my door. With a sigh, I force myself to standing. Unlock the knob and crack the door open an inch.
“Yes.” My voice is flat as I stare through the gap at Tori. She’s wearing a matching cream sweatsuit, with her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail.
“Wellness check. Can I come in?” She arches a brow and I’d really like to tell her to go away.
But I don’t.
Instead, I ease the door open and step aside. She marches in, her head swiveling as she surveys the mess. Empty beer bottles, the discarded bag of chips, piles of unfolded laundry stacked on the kitchen table, unopened mail strewn on the counter.
All in all, looks pretty bad.
“Pardon the mess. I didn’t know I was having a dorm check tonight.” I shove a hand in my pocket and her eyes rake over my bare chest.
“Have you eaten anything substantial today? Like dinner?” She glances at the now-warm, half-drunk protein shake sitting on the counter.
“Nah. Wasn’t hungry.”
“Go shower. I’ll throw something together for us.”
“I said I’m fine. Leave it.”
She glances up at me. “I’ve got it.”
Torn between irritation and gratitude, I shrug. “Fine.”
Pivoting on her heel toward the kitchen, Tori scoops both beer bottles on the way. She doesn’t harp on the ‘no drinking rule,’ just tosses the empty bottles into the recycling bin with a clink. I bend down and grab my T-shirt from the floor, feel her eyes on me.
Assessing.
For once, she’s quiet. Taking care of the mess, like I’m worth taking care of.
And that scares the hell out of me.
CHAPTER 13
TORI
It’s worse than I thought.
The condo’s a mess. Sure, I expected a little clutter, maybe a dirty cup or two. But not this — beer bottles and crumpled wrappers in the living room, a tall stack of dishes in the kitchen sink. The TV is blaring, and there’s not a light on in the whole place.
But even worse is Bennett.
His shoulders slump forward, like all the air’s been deflated from his body. The cocky swagger’s gone, replaced with defeat. And his usually bright eyes are flat and bloodshot.
He’s lost his fight.
Which hits me harder than it should.
I can’t leave him now. If I give him space, he could disappear into it.
The shower hisses from the bathroom, so I get to work tidying up the place. I rinse the dirty plates and load them into the dishwasher. Wipe down the counters, then check the fridge.
The man has hardly any food.
There’s a half-empty carton of eggs, a splash of milk, a few slices of stale bread, and three rotting strawberries.
