“You might want to shower again later, but at least you don’t have puke in your hair.” I wring it out, and she stands up straight.
“You okay now?”
“There’s blood on my fingers,” she whispers.
“Yeah, I think you’re pretty scrappy.”
She lets out a half-laugh with big round eyes, and my heart clenches. I just want to fix it so she’ll stop making that face. Nothing has ever bothered me the way that crease in her brow does, or the way the corners of her mouth turn down just slightly. But the worst of it are the tears pooling in her eyes. I really hate that.
Her voice comes out small when she asks, “Do you promise nothing happened?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “I swear. Nothing happened.”
Leaving her to get dressed, I get started making breakfast and curse myself under my breath. How in the hell did I end up in this situation? This is what I get for being nice. If I’d minded my own business?—
No, if I’d minded my own business, something would have happened.
A few minutes pass before she appears in the doorway, wearing my clothes, with her hair a wild mess around her. My breath hitches. It’s not even a sexual thing; she’s just so pretty. I’m not into art, but I could understand wanting to stare at something for hours if it were as perfect as her.
Her eyes move to the floor as she tries to blink away tears.
“I hope you don’t mind French toast. That’s all I’ve got.”
A smile spreads across her lips. “It’s my favorite.”
She pads across the floor, pulling out a barstool. “Thank you. I’m so sorry for everything.” Her gray eyes stay trained on the counter.
“Hey.” I wait for her to look up at me before continuing. “Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad you’re okay.”
She nods, her eyes glistening as she tries to sniff away the tears.
“Do you want a drink? Water, milk, coffee?” I ask.
“Water’s fine.”
Too late, I realize I’m missing a very important ingredient as I slide the glass of water and plate of food to her. “Shit. I don’t think I have syrup.”
She waves a hand in front of her face. “That’s okay. I don’t like syrup anyway.”
“What? Who eats French toast without syrup?”
“Me, I guess.” She shrugs.
I slide a fork over to her. “Okay, weirdo.”
15
ASH
JUNE 7 YEARS AGO
Ihave yet to leave my bed since Gabe brought me home. I’ve been lectured about not taking drinks from people, but in that moment, I didn’t think about it. I feel stupid and embarrassed.
Speaking of embarrassment, I can’t even think about Gabe without my cheeks catching fire. If I ever see him again, it will be too soon. He had to damn near climb in the shower with me.
How long do you think I’d have to stay in this room for him to forget I exist?
“Are you planning to come out of here anytime today?” Gran asks from the doorway.
