Page 81 of Protect Me
“You’re all right?”
“Fine.” I yawned, shoving hair out of my eyes. “I . . . dozed off, I think, after doing laundry.”
He let out a long breath. “I’ve been so worried. I’ve called three times in the last hour. When you didn’t answer I . . .”
I grimaced. “I’m sorry, Vik. I didn’t hear it until just now. Everything is fine.”
A pause filled the phone, one I wasn’t sure how to tackle. Without being able to see his expression, I had no prayer of reading what he thought. His eyes were, truly, the windows to his fathomless soul.
“Vik?”
“It’s fine,” he grumbled. “I was worried.”
“I appreciate that, and I’m sorry again.”
“I’ll be home in a few.”
The call ended, and I dropped my phone back into my lap. His irritation wasn’t my favorite way to wake up, but I couldn’t say it hadn’t happened before. Vik had a funny way of showing he cared through sheer annoyance.
Besides, why wasn’t he home already? He was supposed to be here hours ago. By the time I gathered my brain back together, used the bathroom, tied my hair back, and shuffled into the living room in a pair of sweats and an old t-shirt, the sound of a car door closing came from outside. I folded myself back onto the couch with a wary eye on the door.
What to expect?
Vik pushed inside, shut the door behind him, and eyed me. The lock flipped, sealing us inside.
“Hey,” he ventured.
Lines of stress filled his forehead, and an expression I couldn’t hope to read. I held one hand to my face, sleeve pulled over my hand as if my fingers were cold.
“Hey,” I murmured.
He eyed me. “You good?”
“Are you mad?” I countered.
“No. Are you?”
I shook my head. Though he promised he wasn’t upset, he looked like a wary cat. He stepped away from the door, a brown bag rustling in his hands. He lowered to the couch and set the bag in front of me, as if it contained something fragile.
“I’m sorry if I came on too strongly on the phone.” His contrite gaze met mine. “I was worried about you, that’s all. The girl coming in after me canceled at the last minute, so I had to stay and help Daniel cover a two-hour lull. I called to let you know but . . . anyway. With Timothy still on the loose, I just want you to be safe.”
“I know.”
He gestured to the bag. “A peace offering?”
Curious, I leaned forward to peer inside. Plastic reflected the light back at first until I reached inside, dug it out, and studied it. Incredulous, my gaze lifted to his.
“A fishing starter kit?”
He grinned. “I thought you might want to come with me tomorrow. I haven’t been in awhile and last time I went I wasn’t all that sober. I’d like to rewrite some memories and do something fun together.”
I blinked.
Not sober while fishing? The possibilities for disaster were endless.
“Fish,” I repeated. “Like, the things that live in streams and bob their mouths open and closed and smell stinky when left in the sun?”
“Yes,” he drawled, making a fishy face. I laughed, unable to help myself. The idea of getting my fingers on their squirmy, scaly bodies, oddly supple under all those shimmering scales, didn’t appeal. But his earnest hope, and the sense that he wanted me to be excited about this idea, pushed me to smile.
