Page 147 of Keeping Kasey
I would’ve heard her if she left, but there’s a chance—as small as it may be—that she slipped out when I showered.
With that unlikely thought, I step into the hall and use the extra keycard to open the door to her room.
When I do, I hear the water hitting the linoleum in irregular patterns. Relieved to know where she is, I step back to leave but pause when I notice a pile on her bedside table.
Tissues.
With a glance at the bathroom, I step into the room, gently ease the door closed, and go to the table.
I’m not sure what I’m looking for, but I study the pile of tissues anyway. Kasey hadn’t sounded congested yesterday, but I hadn’t talked to her enough to know for sure. Maybe she started feeling sick last night.
I lift the tissue box, and it’s almost empty, but what’s on the bedside table doesn’t seem like enough to have emptied the whole box.
I leave her room before the water shuts off and wait in the hall for another half hour until she steps out, ready to go.
She wears black sweatpants and a matching sweatshirt, with a gold necklace and bright white shoes. It’s not exactly professional wear, but she somehow manages to look put together even in baggy clothes, and I prefer it to the fitted tops and tight pants she used to wear around the base. Her hair is piled in a thick bun on top of her head, with a few rebellious curls hanging around her face, which I study now.
It’s faint, and I wouldn’t have noticed it if I weren’t looking, but under her eyes is a puffiness that might be red if it wasn’t hidden beneath skillfully applied makeup. I look for any signs of sickness but find none.
“Good morning,” I greet with a nod. “How was your night?”
“Not productive.”
Not telling Kasey about the reception last night had been a calculated move. I knew she’d enjoy spending time with Kane without anyone else around, but I also knew that hearing that plan from me wouldn’t have been well-received. Damon, on the other hand, could get away with telling her without provoking violence.
If I weren’t so tired, I might’ve remembered to prepare for her frustration today.
“I had business to tend to.”
“I don’t care what you had,” she says, stopping to glare at me before opening the door to the stairs. “You had no right restricting me from the base, especially without telling me. I’ll be going in every day until this job is done, with or without you.”
Her narrowed eyes are complemented by a red hue spreading over her cheeks—a sight that fills me with relief.
I missed that color.
“It won’t happen again,” I tell her, gesturing for her to lead the way.
She hesitates for only a moment before going.
We’re halfway to the base when I try my luck again.
“Are you feeling okay?”
“Positively homicidal,” she answers, staring blankly out the window.
“Would you tell me if you weren’t feeling well?”
“How about I tell you that I have absolutely no interest in conversing unless I have no other option?”
I blame my lack of sleep for my slipping patience.
“Let’s say you have no other option, then,” I snap. “I’m trying here, Kasey.”
“That was your first mistake. Thinking I’d care was your second. Let’s stop before you make a third.”
I curse under my breath and swerve the car to the side of the road, earning me an annoyed honk from the driver behind me—who I flip off without looking as they pass by.
“What do you want from me? I can’t go back and change what happened, but I’m making an effort now, and the least you could do is attempt the same.”
