Page 85 of The Beast's Heart

“Is it that bad?”

Adam brushes my cheek with the tips of his fingers. “I’d… suggest checking on them once the lights are out.”

I groan and bury my head in my hands.

“So… cocoa?”

“Yes. And… damn. I’ve been reading to them in Enrique’s room. It gets him to start the night in his own bed.”

“As opposed to?”

“Alisha’s.”

“I see.”

“Maybe I can still do story time if I do it in the dark.”

Adam gives a doubtful hum and waits for me to realize the logic error.

“Oh. Right.”

He stands, placing a warm hand on my shoulder. “I’ll tell them you’re getting a boxing lesson. Prepare them a little. It won’t be so bad in the morning.”

“But Enrique?—”

“You’ve got your place marked, right?”

Warmth surges through me. “Yes, yes I do.”

Geoff is gone before we get up the next morning. The children are unsettled. It doesn’t take much to put together what happened, no matter how many times I assure them my bruised face and his absence are unrelated.

“He had work in New York,” I say. “He decided it was better to work from there, where he had proper connectivity.”

They don’t buy it. It’s not that they were ever overly fond of him, but he was a part of this place and now he’s gone. I worry that this will bring back those old abandonment anxieties, that I’ll have to reassure them that The Beast doesn’t intend to get rid ofthemovernight.

Instead, during cocoa time, I get asked by a very frank Ben, “Is Adam your boyfriend?”

I nearly choke on my own drink.

“It’s quite obvious,” Mal says, sitting cross legged on the bed, hugging his poop emoji. “Why else would Geoff punch you?”

Ben nods, sagely. “Geoff likes Adam, everyone knows that.”

I’m too flustered to say anything, my face burning.

“It’s okay if you want to keep it private,” Alisha assures me.

“I’m not keeping it— there’s nothing to keep— I, uh, no he’s not my boyfriend.”

“Aww.” Ben frowns and kicks at a pillow.

I wrap up cocoa time as quickly as I can after that.

When I head back to my room, Adam’s waiting for me outside. He’s leaning against the wall, arms folded, biceps bulging and his smile is warm and genuine.

“How’s it going?” he asks, voice extra low so as not to wake anyone. I feel that voice deep in my belly.

“Fine. Everything’s fine!” My voice, in contrast, is high-pitched and strangled.

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