Page 14 of Protect Me
With my left arm, I grabbed the bowl of fruit and set it on the table. Foregoing a fork—I didn’t want to wake her—I made a second trip back for my water bottle, then sat down at the table in the darkness. The cool fruit, sweet and fresh, slid down my hot throat. I fought back a groan.
Better than anything.
When I’d eaten almost half the bowl, I forced myself to slow. Retching would only irritate the wound, and I didn’t want Doc Blaine to have any reason to send me back to the hospital. Speaking of, I had to figure out how togetto my appointment later today.
I shook that off.
A rideshare would be fine.
The sound of a quiet voice sounded like a cannon in the night. “Vik?” My head lifted, back toward the living room. Katelyn’s sleepy tone, like a rustled puppy, sent heat all the way to my toes. I shoved it back.
Kate was practically my sister.
Right?
Didn’t explain why her crackly voice made my fingers curl into fists I couldn’t have unclenched if I tried.
“Yeah. Sorry if I woke you.”
She darted up, eyes wild. Her hair flopped around her face and breaths came fast. I leaned back in the kitchen chair. Did I comprehend this wrong because of shadows, or was she in an outright panic?
“Kate?”
She sucked in a sharp breath. “Where am I?” Her knees curled into her chest. “I—“
“You’re at my place.” My voice dropped a notch, right into soothing. “In Pineville. I . . . I guess I fell asleep for a long time and you must have stayed to take care of me. Thank you.”
The terror ebbed. The tight muscles in her face eased and shoulders slumped.
“Right. Sorry. I . . . sorry.”
I grabbed the bowl of fruit and held it out to her. “Fruit makes everything better. Want some?”
Doubtful she could see more than my silhouette right now. I couldn’t blame her for a momentary freak out with my ugly mug in the shadows, but I couldn’t shake the feeling there wasmoreto it than that.
Kate shoved the hair out of her face and behind an ear. Her death grip on her knees faded.
“Can I turn on a light?”
The request, so quietly spoken, cut to a heart I thought more hardened than this.
“Of course.”
“Thanks.”
A rustle, then a flicker of low light from a lamp. She didn’t quite meet my eyes as she looked around—again—and finally settled back against the couch. Several moments passed before I shoved the bowl and fork away with my left hand.
“I owe you an apology.”
Her head lifted. “What?”
“I was sort of a jerk earlier. I blame the meds.” My fingers ran through my hair, tangled in the still-wet strands at the very back, where I’d been sleeping for hours. “There’s . . . a lot going on.”
“Oh, I didn’t think you were a jerk.”
“You should have.”
“I didn’t.” She set her chin on top of her knees and sighed. “I didn’t want to wake you and wasn’t sure if you were okay, so I stayed. I hope—“
