She picked up the painting. Her mother teared up looking at it.
“Come on, Mom. Those macarons aren’t going to make themselves.” She bumped shoulders with her mother.
They turned to go downstairs when a familiar voice carried up to them. “Riya? Riya? You home?” It was Dhillon, and there was urgency in his voice.
twenty-eight
DHILLON
Dhillon entered Riya’s house, hastily removing his Crocs, Scout at his heels. His heart was racing. He could not believe what his sister had just told him. He called out again as he made for the kitchen. “Riya!”
“What?” Riya called from the steps.
He backtracked. Relaxed a bit when he saw her face. “I just talked to Hetal.”
Radha Auntie came up behind Riya as they both descended the stairs. He fixed his gaze on Riya, unwilling to say more in front of her mother. Radha Auntie graciously took the hint and made an excuse to be in the kitchen. They waited until they heard the sounds of pots and pans clanging before resuming the conversation.
“What happened at the station?” Dhillon glanced at Riya’s hand. Sure enough, her knuckles were red and scraped raw.
She shrugged. “I took care of a problem.”
Dhillon couldn’t help his smile. “So I heard.” He nodded at her hand. “You okay? Need help with that?”
She looked at her injury as if just now noticing it. She grinned. “What’re you going to do about it? You’re a vet. I’m not an animal.”
He rolled his eyes. “Basic first aid.”
“Which I am more than capable of handling.” She pursed her lips at him.
“Which you haven’t done yet,” he countered.
When Hetal had texted him, saying that Riya had punched Walsh, his mind had immediately gone to the worst-case scenario. He had been on his last patient of the day, and when the appointment was over, he’d left the office as quickly as he could.
“Come on.” He tapped her shoulder. “I know where your first aid kit is.” He started up the stairs, hoping she would follow. She did, but not until she let out an exasperated sigh.
The Desais kept their well-stocked first aid kit in the hall closet. Dhillon marched up the stairs and opened it, pulling out the container as Riya joined him and sat on the top step. Scout scooted around and tucked herself next to Riya’s hip.
Dhillon sat down next to her, but not before noticing that the door to Samir’s room was open. He pulled out antiseptic and took her hand. She had a solid scrape, and it would most likely be bruised by morning.
He tilted his head toward Samir’s room. “You’ve had a big day.”
She inhaled deeply, then exhaled. But she was more relaxed than he’d seen her in a long while. “I went in there.” She met his eyes, and he could swear they lit up.
“And?” He moved each of her fingers to check for breaks.
“And he was getting ready to go to art school.” Tears filled her eyes, but she was still smiling. “So he didn’t want his art to burn, and that’s why he went back in the house. Not to get my necklace.”
Though she had never said as much, Dhillon had always suspected that Riya had somehow felt responsible for Samir’s death. He squeezed her hand.
“Ouch!” She pulled her hand away.
Dhillon exaggerated the roll of his eyes. “Please. You punched a guy in the face with that hand, and then you tackled Samir’s room. No way my little squeeze hurt that much.”
Riya smiled but still raised her hand to give him a playful smack. He caught her hand before it landed, and she tried to pull it away, but he brought it to his lips. “You are incredible. And much stronger than you think. In every way.” He kissed her bandaged hand. “Tell me everything. I want to hear how you took that asshole down.”
Riya grinned but did not pull her hand away, and Dhillon was reminded of sitting in the tree house with her as they gorged on snacks and told each other everything.
She filled him in on the details of her run-in with Walsh, and he forced himself to remain calm, though the caveman part of him wanted to hunt down and beat Walsh himself.
