Page 96 of Played By Design

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My thumb scrolls back up.

Equipment failure. Investigation ongoing.

It could be a coincidence.

But I don’t believe in coincidences.

I turn toward Kain.

Every life event has a trigger.

17

When William returns a little later, he stops inside the doorway and surveys the room.

Lev is perched on the windowsill, texting with someone on his phone. Ash has reclaimed the second visitor chair near the foot of Kain’s bed, finishing off his sandwich by eating the toppings straight from the container.

My workbook is back in my lap, open to Kain’s new care manual, and the remains of dinner crowd the rolling tray table beside Kain’s bed.

William notices the empty wrapper on the rolling tray beside me. “Good. You ate.”

“Yes, your nagging succeeded,” I huff. “Happy?”

“Thrilled.”

Apparently satisfied that I haven’t starved to death in the hour since I arrived at the hospital, he steps inside and lets the door swing shut.

He reaches for one of the still mostly full carton of fries.

I slap his hand.

William jerks back. “What the hell?”

“Lev bought those for me.”

He massages his knuckles. “You’re not eating them.”

“They’re cold.”

“And you hate cold fries,” he complains. “Are you saving them for when Kain wakes up?”

I purse my lips. “Fries aren’t on his meal plan.”

William almost asks about the workbook in my lap, then points toward the fries instead. “So, may I eat your cold fries? Since no one brought me food?”

I jut out my chin. “What happened to the vending machine food?”

“Are you being a brat for a specific reason?” he demands.

His question is fair. He’s not the one who put Kain in this bed. He called Ghost. Ghost brought my friends.

And the fries stopped being edible at least fifteen minutes ago. The grease has soaked through the carton, and the ones at the bottom will have gone limp enough to fold in half.

I wave a hand. “Fine. Take them.”

“Thank you.” He claims the container and eats one.