Page 95 of Cinder
The ceiling above me is unfamiliar, the mattress beneath me firmer. And then Elle shifts against me, one leg flung over my hip, and everything settles back into place.
I turn my head instinctively and realize the other side of the bed is untouched.
For a moment, I frown at it, then push myself up onto one elbow. Surely he’s home by now, at least I assume he must be. I’m sure I heard something distantly, the shower going maybe, but I was too far gone to surface from sleep properly.
The faint smell of soap lingers in the air, subtle but unmistakable. So he’s home—he’s showered. But he’s not in his bed.
I ease out from under Elle, moving quietly so I don’t wake her. She makes a small protesting sound in her sleep, and I tuck the blanket higher over her shoulders before slipping out into the hallway and gently tugging the door closed behind me.
It’s still early. There’s no morning light filtering through the windows, but the house feels settled and secure regardless.
Gus lifts his head when he hears me and gives a lazy wag of his tail before dropping it back down with a sigh. I round the corner into the living room, and there he is.
Evan’s stretched out along the couch, one arm thrown over his face with his eyes closed, the other resting across his stomach. Elle’s unicorn blanket is tangled loosely around his legs like he dragged it over himself without fully committing, or overheated and kicked it off again.
He lookswrecked.
My throat tightens unexpectedly, and I move toward the armchair, picking up the folded throw draped over the back. I step closer to the couch, careful not to let the floorboards creak, and shake the blanket out gently before draping it over him.
As my fingers brush his forearm accidentally, his eyes spring open.
He’s alert in a split second, sitting up slightly as his arm drops away from his face, no groggy confusion whatsoever. His gaze finds mine, sharp at first, but then it softens.
“Hey,” he says, voice rough from sleep or whatever he’s been thinking about.
“Hi.” I shift my weight slightly, suddenly aware of how close I’m standing. “You looked cold.”
He huffs a quiet breath, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck as he sits up more. “Thanks… I’m good.”
“You’re on the couch.”
“Yeah.”
I cross my arms loosely, leaning back against the edge of the coffee table. “You could’ve got in your bed.”
His eyes flick to mine, unreadable for a second.
“I know.”
There’s something about the way he’s not pushing me away like I expect him to that makes my pulse trip.
“I would’ve gone to the spare room or back out to the guest house once you got back,” I say. “But you didn’t wake me.”
“No.”
“And you didn’t go to the spare bed?”
“No, I wanted… wanted to hear the sounds of the house.”
But the house is quiet, the night’s stillness stretching between us. I study his face, the faint shadow beneath his eyes.
“Was it bad?” I ask softly.
He watches me for a second like he’s measuring how much to give, then he nods.
“Yeah. Overdose, with a kid on the scene. Little guy was terrified.”
My chest pulls tight, and I step closer and sit gently next to him before I think about it too much. The couch dips slightly under my weight, close enough that my thigh brushes his.
