“Deal.”
She grabbed gauze and tape, pressing it carefully into place.
“We have to clean it often,” she said. “Especially the deeper part. And keep it wrapped.”
“Got it.”
She smacked my arm lightly. “I’m serious.”
“I’m going to milk it, since you’re so concerned.”
She rolled her eyes, pressing the bandage down as I leaned back in the chair, watching her. She was so focused, so careful—I had the sudden urge to pull her in and kiss every inch of her face.
“I think we’re set.” She smiled, brushing a kiss over my cheek before heading toward the bedroom.
“You’re leaving me here? I’m injured. You’re supposed to take me back to bed.”
“You can walk,” she shot back, glancing over her shoulder with a small smile. “But I’ll still take care of you if you come with me.”
That was enough. I pushed the chair back and followed, catching her by the waist. I pressed a slow kiss to her neck, and her hands came up, pulling me with her toward the bedroom.
Chapter 28 – June 21, 1994 – Camille
I’d been giddy lately.
I could’ve made something simple for dinner, but baking called to me. Besides, I needed to use the frozen bananas I’d tucked away months earlier.
Humming a tune I didn’t quite recognize, I tapped my foot in time with the ticking kitchen timer. My mismatched oven mitts were stained from past disasters, and my apron was dusted in flour from the muffins—both in need of a wash, though I hardly cared.
The kitchen window had fogged over from the oven’s heat, but I could still make out headlights cutting through the haze.
My heart flipped.
Erich was home.
My legs went soft at the thought of him—his lips at my neck, that low, gravelly sound in my ear as he lifted me off the kitchen floor and carried me to the bedroom.
The timer rang, sharp and loud, just as the front door opened, letting in a rush of warm summer air.
I didn’t turn right away. I pulled the muffin tin from the oven first, careful with the heat, then turned—smiling—ready to greet him like some 1950s housewife with fresh baking in hand.
But it wasn’t Erich.
The shock hit so hard my fingers went numb. The muffin tin slipped, clattering to the floor, scattering ruined muffins across the wood.
Reed.
My older brother.
Navy slacks. An unbuttoned polo. His dark hair was disheveled, like he’d been driving nonstop. He appeared unhinged—but still put together in a way that made my skin crawl. Like he’d dropped everything and come straight for me. Or snorted a line of cocaine and started driving North at a minute’s notice.
My mind stalled.
Fight or flight kicked in so hard I barely registered his voice. His lips moved, curling into that same familiar smile—wrong now. Predatory. His eyes gleamed with something feral.
The fox.
That was all I could think of—the sly fox from the stories our nanny used to read.
