Page 73 of Taken By the Fae

“Unless you need to go back. I know tonight was important.”

He smiles. “I’m confident Max and Skylar took care of it.”

I nod, leaving Tristan in the living room to say goodnight to my parents, who are drinking tea at the breakfast bar in the kitchen.

“Is there something going on between the two of you?”Dad asks.

“Now’s not really the time to talk about that.” Not with Elijah in the hospital—or with Tristan in the other room, where his fae hearing can most definitely pick up our conversation.

“It’s clear he cares for you,” Mom says.

The heat rises in my cheeks, and I shrug, because how the hell am I supposed to respond to that?

“How doyoufeel?” Mom asks.

What a loaded question.How desperately I wish I could confide in my mom about the feelings I shouldn’t have for Tristan, to give her the distraction from this awful day, but the timing… I can’t.

“I feel like I don’t want to talk about this right now.”

She frowns. “Okay. We’ll see you in the morning, honey.”

I hug them both before returning to the living room. Tristan looks over at me but mentions nothing about what was said in the kitchen, though I know he heard every word.

Upstairs, we pass Elijah’s room, and I pause. My hand is opening the door before I can stop myself.

Tristan steps inside with me and stays silent.

I look around the room, taking in all his old video game posters. Clothes cover most of the floor, and his bed is unmade. All the kid wanted was to sleep until noon on the weekends and play video games. Now he’s stuck in a hospital bed, hooked up to machines, with doctors trying to figure out why he won’t wake up.

I blow out a breath, my chest heavy and my eyes watering again. “This isn’t fair,” I whisper.

“I know,” Tristan murmurs, sliding his hand into mine and squeezing gently. After another few minutes, he guides me out of the room and down the hall until I stop at my closed bedroom door.

“You can’t laugh,” I say in a tired voice.

He peers at me. “Why would I laugh?”

“Just promise you won’t.”

He brushes the back of his hand across my cheek. “I promise.”

I nod and open the door before stepping inside. Everything is a different shade of purple. The bedding, the curtains, my desk—everything. “I haven’t lived here for, like, three and a half years,” I say as though it’s an explanation.

He presses his lips together against a smile. “Sure,” he says. “It’s… nice.”

“It’s overwhelmingly purple,” I mumble. “It’s terrible.”

Tristan shrugs off his suit jacket, draping it over the chair at my desk, and slowly unbuttons his white-collared dress shirt. “It’s charming.”

I sigh, guilt trickling in. I don’t really care about my room right now. Not when Elijah is stuck sleeping on a hospital bed instead of his own. “I’ll grab you something to wear.” I slip out of the room and find a pair of sweatpants and one of Dad’s old T-shirts.

When I return to my room and close the door, I find Tristan sitting shirtless on the end of my bed. It takes me a minute to find my voice; my head is in too many places right now. “I’m pretty sure these will fit.” I toss the shirt and pants at him and turn away, walking to my dresser, and grab an old hoodie and leggings. Turning back to Tristan, I take a few steps closer and wet my lips. “Can you unzip me?” I whisper.

He closes the distance between us, coming behind me, and rests one hand against my hip while the other glides up my back. He fingers the zipper, dragging it down, the heat of his chest warming my back.

“Thank you,” I force out, my heart kicking in my chest.

He leans in and kisses the side of my head before his hand drops from my hip, and I slip into the bathroom across the hall to change. My reflection in the mirror makes me pause. I cringe at the smudged eyeliner and black tear stains running down my cheeks. My hair is still curled and set around my face, which makes it look odd. I grab a makeup wipe and do my best to get rid of it before flicking off the light on my way out.

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