She nodded. “I passed out in my kitchen. I’m embarrassed.”
“I’m sure you are,” I said.
The corner of her mouth twitched.
I took in the rest of her without comment. The IV. The faint bruise near her temple. Her propped-up foot. I shifted the chair an inch closer without thinking. Her gaze followed the movement immediately.
“You don’t have to do this,” she said again, softer this time.
“I know.”
“Has anyone ever told you you’re very good in a crisis?”
I simply smiled. “Try to rest, Zoey.”
She nodded. Her hand moved toward mine, then stopped halfway, restraint snapping into place. I didn’t reach for her, but I wanted to. I wanted to climb into the narrow hospital bed beside her and pull her in close until some of the tension left her body. I wanted to let her sleep against me while I listened for anything that sounded wrong. The urge arrived whole and immediate, so domestic it almost unsettled me. I stayed where I was.
And for the first time since the call came in, my mind quieted enough to let me sit still without scanning for what came next.
Chapter 8
Zoey
The siren startedthe moment Liam crossed the threshold of my new apartment with me in his arms. I should have anticipated it.
The sound was high, sharp, and continuous.
Liam flinched so hard, I felt it reverberating through his arms. His grip tightened without squeezing. He froze, body locked in place, every muscle on alert, posture shifting from careful to prepared.
“That’s Markie,” I said.
He looked past me, scanning the house. “What’s a Markie?”
“My parrot.”
The siren continued uninterrupted, volume unwavering.
Liam blinked once. “Your parrot sounds… unhappy.”
“That’s his baseline,” I said. “It gets worse if he thinks I’ve been replaced.”
Liam nodded, slowly absorbing my words.
I was grateful I had handled Markie’s food and water before touching a single box. That small mercy kept his screeching at angry levels instead of apocalyptic.
“Put me down,” I said. “He doesn’t like new people. Or noise. Or change. Or you being taller than the furniture.”
“I can be shorter,” Liam said, bending his knees.
The noise amplified.
“He does not believe you.”
Liam lowered me carefully, waiting until I had my balance before stepping back. I limped toward the noise, already bracing myself for the performance.
Markie’s large enclosure gave him a clear view of the entry, the living room, and anyone foolish enough to think they could sneak in unnoticed. The perches rotated to prevent boredom; his toys were arranged just the way he liked them, as were his food bowls. It was the only room that looked even remotely finished.
Markie stood rigidly on his perch, feathers tight, body angled forward. His attention was locked on Liam, and he was radiating hostility.
