The next day is much the same. By dinner, I’m going stir-crazy.
“I want to eat downstairs,” I tell Eli.
He freezes. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“Tyler!” I shout out, hoping he can hear me.
Footsteps hesitate in the hall. A soft knock sounds.
The door—fixed earlier after Eli kicked it down to get to Graham—swings open, and Tyler’s broad frame fills the doorway.
“I’m allowed out of this bed, aren’t I?” I ask, fixing him with a pointed look.
He glances between Eli and me, clearly unsure which answer is safest. Eli glares. Tyler opens his mouth.
“The truth,” I say firmly.
He gulps. “Yes. She’s okay to get out of bed. It would probably be good for her.”
Eli rolls his eyes. “Fine. You can watch me cook.”
Pleased to have Eli’s cooking back—Ty’s was fine, but Eli is exceptional—and pleased to have won, I swing my legs over the side of the bed.
My leg hurts too much to take full weight, so Eli steadies me with an arm around my waist.
"Let me carry you," he insists, trying to scoop me up.
He stand firm despite the pain. "No," I grit out. "Let me walk."
There's a moment where I think he'll pick me up anyway, but then he just pouts, keeping his arm around me as he helps me move.
Slowly, we make our way down the steps.
He pulls out a chair at the table, turning it to face the kitchen so I can watch while he opens cabinets and starts preparing dinner.
But instead of watching him, I can’t stop staring at the tiny spot of blood on the cabinet where Gia stabbed me. Eli has clearly cleaned as much as he could, but that stain feels permanent. Haunting.
The next thing I know, Eli’s face is level with mine as he crouches in front of me. “Em?”
I shake my head, closing my eyes briefly. “Sorry.”
“Where were you just then?”
“There’s blood on the cabinet.”
Eli twists to look, his shoulders tensing. “Sorry, Angel.”
“I hate that I can feel her presence in this room.”
His lips twist. “We’ll redecorate.”
“You shouldn’t have to do that.”
He covers my hand with his, squeezing gently. “I want to.” He stands and returns to prepping. “I’m making pasta. Tomato sauce okay?”
“Sounds perfect.”
“What colour would you want the new kitchen to be?”