Page 85 of Sins (The Sins Trilogy 1)
“You’re hurt,” I say.
He looks slightly amused at the idea. “Me?”
“Your hand.”
He glances down, flexing his fingers. “It’s nothing.”
I go to the bathroom and bring back a warm, wet towel, along with his jacket. I give him the jacket, then take his hand and gently wipe away the blood, checking to make sure there aren’t any serious injuries. Once I’m done, I eye the other hand. He gives it to me without a word. It’s bloody, too. I clean it with care.
“Told you it was nothing.” Tony’s voice is artificially facile, an attempt at nonchalance that doesn’t really come off. “Go to sleep, Iris.”
“You’re probably busy. I shouldn’t have asked you to stay.” I shouldn’t continue to impose when I’ve lost what little hold I had over that thread of memory.
A corner of his mouth lifts into a faint smile. “After you go to sleep.”
“I can’t fall asleep while someone watches,” I say, climbing into bed and pulling the sheet all the way to my chin. Part of me thinks what’s happening here is surreal, but another part is anxious, full of anticipatory flutter, as the same little feather that tickled my mind earlier returns, this time more persistent.
He leans back in the chair and looks up at the ceiling. “Nobody’s watching you now. Sleep.”
“You can’t just order someone to sleep like that.”
Did he flinch? I can’t really be sure.
I stay tense under the sheet, waiting for lightning to strike and reveal some piece of memory that’s buried in my head, but nothing comes. Disappointment slowly permeates me, and I swallow a sigh. I should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy. But this is the closest I’ve ever gotten to sensing memories that have nothing to do with music in the last thirty-odd months.
And I know instinctively that Tony is the key.
