Page 86 of Point of No Return

“Unless you want to be the one to clean up my menstrual fluid, I suggest you walk back down those stairs right now,” I warn, wincing at my own stupidity.

How is this better than the truth?

I don’t hear anything for a while, and I sigh, glad that I can actually finish up in peace. Tying off the shoes in a garbage bag, I flush just for show and wait a few moments before washing my hands and casually opening the door.

Only to find my husband leaning against the wall in the hallway. Clearly unamused. He dangles a white rag from his hand, the cloth stained with red blood he must’ve just cleaned up. Then, his eyes dip toward my foot that’s wrapped in gauze a centimeter thick.

“Usually you’re a better liar,” he taunts, arms crossing over his chest.

I hold my ground, clenching the bag in my hands. “I’m bleeding.”

It’s not a lie.

“Lots and lots of blood,” I continue. “Please step aside.”

“Nice bandage work,” he gestures to my foot. “Would have thought it healed by now.”

I shrug, meeting his eye head-on. “I’m a slow healer.”

He cocks a brow, eyes like clouds before a storm. He hums, clearly not buying it. “How was your run?” I still, hating that he can read me like a book, but I refuse to look away. I can’t give him the satisfaction.

“Fabulous, thanks,” I brush past him, heading for the stairs, but I halt when he blocks me with a hand against the wall, caging me in.

His subtle, earthy scent hits me in a dizzying wave, and his breath is hot as he leans down and whispers, "Either you let me carry you or I’m throwing your ass over my shoulder.”

The fact that I’m not opposed to either idea is only half the problem.

“It’s up to you,” he breathes, and it takes every bit of resolve inside me not to shudder at the feeling of him so close to me.

If I push him down the stairs, would it be considered an innovative solution?

I twist, having to tilt my head back just to look at him. This position only puts his bicep right at my neck, his face inches from mine.

“I bet you do things out of the kindness of your heart all the time, don’t you?”

His answering smile is enough to make my knees weak. “It’s all for my benefit actually.”

I snatch the bloodied rag from his hand and I dump it, along with my bag, down the trash chute in the hall before begrudgingly wrapping my arms around his neck. I’m still glaring at him, but he lifts me with ease, one arm around my back and the other under my legs.

He’s close enough that I can see the stubble along his jaw and the column of his throat work as he swallows. The ink of his tattoos is so vivid and clear in this light, and part of me wonders if he got a tattoo with Aleks the other day, but I stop the thought as soon as it happens. Thinking about his body while he’s touching me is an all new kind of low.

“Think you can sit still long enough to watch a movie?” he taunts again, but this time, there’s a hint of genuine curiosity.

“I’m great at sitting still,” I say just as the couch comes into view. I see Aleks already spread out on the lounge, popping kernels of popcorn in his mouth. “What are we watching?” I ask as Skar sets me down in my favorite corner of the couch.

I’m surprised when he plops down next to me, but I quickly fixate on the titles as Aleks shuffles through them. Pulling my knees to my chest and yanking a blanket over my lap, I tuck myself into my little corner and ignore Skar completely as I reach for a handful of popcorn. Even as he drapes an arm over the back of the couch, I refuse to look over at him.

“Sci-fi?” Aleks asks, and I agree too quickly, making Skar chuckle. Then I feel his fingers smoothing gentle circles into my shoulder. The touch is searing, burning into me. I ignore the heat, refusing to acknowledge him with a reaction.

But god, if this touch feels this good, I can’t imagine how other things might feel.

I force the thought so far down I hope it never sees the light of day again.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Skar

Less than a movie and a half in, they’ve both fallen asleep. Aleks is snoring softly, head fallen on the back of the couch, mouth parted. Charlie’s still curled into a ball on her corner of the couch, but her cheek is pressed against my bicep. She was nodding on and off, head lulling to the side until sleep finally pulled her under.

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