She disappears, and I sit there in the quiet, with my towel still twisted in my hands.
I should be thinking about the mugger lie and how I’m going to keep it straight if Fallon asks questions tomorrow. Instead, my mind slides back to Echo.
To the way he looked at me. To the way he said, very plainly, that he couldn’t let me walk away.
But he did, didn’t he?At least, I hope he did.
A moment later, Fallon returns with an ice pack wrapped in a dish towel and tosses it to me.
“Hold it,” she orders.
I do.
She leans against the counter, watching me with a look that is equal parts annoyance and care. “You’re going to bed,” she says. “And tomorrow, we’ll reassess. If you wake up dizzy or nauseous, I’m taking you to urgent care, and you will not fight me on it.”
“I wasn’t going to fight.”
Fallon arches a brow.
“Okay. I probably would’ve.”
“Exactly, bitch.” She replies playfully. “Don’t forget I know you.”
I laugh, pressing the ice against my cheek as I stare at the tiled floor.
“I’m glad you’re okay.”
My throat tightens. “I am, too.”
She gives me a nod, then points to the blunt still perched on the edge of the tub. “Also, if your square ass is going to smoke some of my weed, at least have the decency to invite me to join in. You never smoke with me.” She pouts.
I huff a laugh and shake my head.
“Next time. I promise.”
Fallon’s blue eyes sparkle with mischief. “Shut up! Are you saying there’s going to be a next time? Dahlia Delacruz, don’t you play with my emotions right now.”
“Goodnight, Fallon.” I say, fighting a smile as I practically shove her towards the door.
“I’m holding you to it, fucker.” She grumbles, stomping out into the hallway. “Head injury or not, a promise is a freaking promise.”
The door shuts behind her, and my eyes drift to the counter, to where my phone has been sitting face-down for the last few hours.
I tell myself I only want to check it out of habit. Or boredom. Or because tonight is finally over and I’m trying to anchor myself in something normal.
But when I flip it over and see his name lighting up my screen, the fact that I immediately open his message, tells me I’m full of shit.
Echo: Did you get home okay?
It’s such a simple question. Normal, even. The kind of thing a friend would ask.
Except, we’re not friends. Not really. And the fact that he’s already checking in on me. Already inserting himself into my life like he has every right to be there, is a fucking problem.
I don’t know what he wants from me, but it’s clear whatever this is between us isn’t over. It’s just getting started.
CHAPTER FIVE
Echo
