A good example of that was Theo giving his room to Eve for the night.
Something she had lightly huffed about.
“I don’t want to put you out,” she’d told Theo after Winnie had left and Mitchell was wrapping up to go too.
Theo had waved the thought off. Mitchell had offered to get him a room at the hotel where he was staying—and where Eve had, in name, also been staying—but Theo had refused to leave Darius, still hurt, alone.
Though, there was never any real danger in that worry.
He’d made it clear that Eve wasn’t going to leave his side and she had been just as vocal about staying put. Her suitcase had already been in his room when he’d come back from the hospital.
Now that suitcase was down the hall in his childhood bedroom.
And Darius was staring up at the ceiling, wondering if the anxiousness he was feeling in him was warranted or not.
Half an hour after the house quieted and he was searching for the sleep that was trying to elude him, Darius was silently grateful for his thinking ahead about his sleepwear choice.
The bedroom door didn’t squeak, but the floorboard just outside of it did.
Darius kept his eyes closed as the soft clicks of the door opening and closing preceded the soft shuffles of feet wrapped in socks.
He still didn’t open his eyes when the mattress sank lightly beside him a few moments later.
Eve took care not to touch him this time, though she did speak.
“Let me stay for a bit,” she whispered at his shoulder. “It feels weird to sleep in this house without you.”
Because he knew Eve, Darius understood the statement was innocent in nature. She had, after all, spent most of her nights asleep in the same house with him next to her on the floor as kids.
But also because he knew Eve, Darius understood something else the moment she made the comment.
He hadn’t just guessed that Eve would climb into his bed that night.
Darius realized he had been hoping that she would.
MITCHELL NEVER WENTto his hotel. Everyone inside thought he had—and he certainly thought he was going to as well—but the second he made it to his rental’s driver-side door, something heavy hit his back.
The pain was a lot to handle and, in trying to suppress it, his yell internalized. All that came out of his mouth before the woman attempted the hit again was a gasp. Not even animpressive one. The cicadas in the summer would have been louder.
Regardless of his initial reaction, the second hit was enough to make the lights go out.
When he opened his eyes again, head throbbing and stomach ready to be sick, he was in a room with a woman sitting across from him in an upholstered chair.
She was young, but confidence made her feel much older than him.
Mitchell’s voice wobbled as he spoke.
“Wh-who are you?”
The woman had a gun on her lap, gloves on her hands and a clear look of annoyance on her face.
Her voice was as smooth as silk.
“Someone who was starting to get worried that I might have hit you a little too hard,” she said. “The second time. The first I misjudged how tall you were. Don’t worry, I have your number now.”
She wasn’t holding the gun, and as she crossed her legs, it moved over her thighs like a ship at sea. Mitchell couldn’t help but watch the movement with a stomach that felt more than motion sickness.
The woman caught his concerned gaze and glanced down at the weapon too.
