Page 82 of Twisted Fate

She tucks the towel under my arms and lifts me until I’m standing in the shower, holding onto her arms. She guides me out and onto the bathmat.

“Your shirt’s all wet,” I inform her.

“I don’t care.”

“Okay,” I mumble, staring at the delicate buckle on her belt.

“Aurora,” she says in a quiet voice.

I glance up to meet her gaze, and my bottom lip trembles. I blink a few times, but the sting of tears is too strong. “Adam is dead,” I say as a sob tears free.

“I know,” she says and wraps her arm around my shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

She hugs me to her side while I cry in the middle of the bathroom.

Skylar leads me into the bedroom and hands me a shirt. It’s one of Tristan’s. She looks away when I drop the towel like she didn’t see me naked in the shower a few minutes ago, and I pull it on, buttoning it until it covers my breasts. It falls to just above my knees, and I roll up the long sleeves.

“I’m going to get Tristan,” she says, heading for the door.

“Skylar,” I call after her. “I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

She pauses, turning to face me. “It’s okay, human. You’re forgiven. This time.” The faint quirk of her lips manages to make me smile. For once, the tone of her voice when she calls me human doesn’t sound like an insult.

I’m fidgeting with the hem of the oversized shirt I’m wearing when Tristan walks in. His eyes darken as they take me in.

“What?” I ask.

His jaw works. “You, in my clothes...” he trails off as his eyes continue to devour me where I stand. “Are you warm enough in that?”

I nod, closing the distance between us and grip his arms. “I’m sorry I showed up without any notice,” I whisper.

He dips his face down, and some of his hair falls into his eyes. “Don’t apologize, Rory. I’m glad you came,” he says. He wraps his arms around me, and I press my face into his chest, inhaling, comforted by his clean, crisp smell. It’s familiar—it’s Tristan.

“Stay here tonight,” he murmurs.

I peer up at him. “In your bed? With you?”

His lips twitch. “In my bed. With me.”

I nod. “Okay.”

He leans down and brushes his lips across my forehead, alleviating the pounding behind my eyes. I’m not sure when the dynamic between the two of us shifted so significantly, but it’s during moments like these that it’s clear that it has.

I slide my fingers along the fabric of his collar. “Thanks,” I murmur.

He nods. “Can I get you anything?”

“I’m okay.”

He grazes my cheek with the back of his hand before he walks away and takes off his dress pants, tossing them into a hamper. He takes his time undoing the buttons on his shirt before adding it to the laundry, and pulls on a pair of dark gray sweatpants.

I sit on the end of his bed, staring at my hands in my lap. “Skylar was nice to me.”

He chuckles. “You sound surprised.”

I lift my head to look at him. “Aren’t you?”

He tilts his head. “Maybe a little, but I think you’ve grown on her.”

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