Bells and Rex are on the couch. Still handcuffed. Bells has tucked her legs underneath her, curled into the corner cushion with Rex's hoodie pulled down over her knees.
Rex is sitting upright next to her, technically. But he's just...there. Occupying space. His single visible eye is half-lidded, unfocused, staring at nothing in particular.
I've never seen him like this. Not even after Nash died. Not after any of the shit that's gone down over the years. Rex Steele doesn't dodefeated. He does furious. He does cold, controlled, ready to dump kerosene on the world and light the match if it looks at him wrong.
This isnotfucking good.
"Food's ready," I announce, setting the tray on the coffee table.
Rafael looks up from his phone, eyebrows climbing. "Did you make enough for a small army?"
"Protein, Raf. Have some." I shove a slice of bacon in his mouth to shut him up.
Bells is already reaching for one, her free hand snagging a fork while her cuffed hand stays awkwardly in her lap. The chain clinks as she moves.
"Rex." I push a plate toward him. "Eat. Please. At least have some fucking toast."
He doesn't move.
"Rex."
Nothing.
I put the plate in his lap and he just sits there like he's completely dead inside. He's never eaten around us, but I guess I was hoping he would change his mind now that we knowwhy. The side of his mouth is torn. Most of his cheek is gone. But weknownow. He doesn't need to try to hide it anymore.
The problem is, I have no idea how to say that.
And if I tried, he would be fucking furious with me.
All I can do is hope that whatever's happening between Bells and Rex is enough to get him through this. Because right now, it feels like she might be the only thing that can.
CHAPTER 15
BELLS
The breakfast Phoenix made looks incredible.Smellsincredible too. It's the kind of comfort food that makes you want to curl up in a warm blanket and pretend the world outside doesn't exist.
Too bad I can barely taste any of it.
My brain is too busy. It's fixated on Rex's weight beside me on the couch, warm and solid despite the hollow look in his eye. The fact I woke up with my head and hand on his chest and him staring blankly at the ceiling. The fuzzy handcuff chain connecting our wrists, clinking every time one of us shifts.
It's always me moving, because he's like a fucking zombie right now. Phoenix and Raf's worried glances from across the coffee table.
I take a bite of eggs. Chew. Swallow. The motions are automatic, disconnected from anything resembling appetite.
Rex still hasn't touched his plate.
It's sitting in his lap where Phoenix put it, slowly going cold. Every few seconds, Phoenix's gaze darts to it, then away, like it's killing him to not physically pick up the fork and shove food in Rex's mouth.
"The bacon's really good," I offer, snagging a piece from Rex's plate since mine is already decimated. "Phoenix outdid himself."
Nothing.
Rex doesn't even blink. Just sits there, that single visible eye fixed on some middle distance I can't see, his body present but his mind somewhere dark.
I shift on the couch, and the movement brings our thighs into contact. Rex doesn't pull away. Doesn't react at all, actually, which is somehow more concerning than if he'd flinched.
Phoenix catches my eye from across the room. He doesn't have to speak to ask the question written all over his face.