Vero raises his hand, and Kayla laughs. “You heard the woman—you four have a mess to clean.”
I observe the interaction, searching for the detachment I have used a thousand times before, only to find it further away. I make a mental note that it moved and turn my back to open the door. I don’t feel in these situations; I find a way to use them. Right now, I can find nothing to my advantage, and that bothers me. All I want to do is clean up the flowers before Nixie finds out that Kayla was the one who caused the chaos on her island. I need to get closer to her so I can understand her better, and protecting her from Nixie’s wrath is the first step.
Kayla
Opening my eyes, I stare up at the ceiling for a few moments, remembering everything from last night. I hear a shuffle and turn my head, finding Vero sitting cross-legged on the floor beside the bed, his chin resting on the mattress.
“Shit on a fucking stick,” I bite out. He scared the freaking life out of me.
“Good morning,” he says with a smile.
“What is wrong with you?” I press my hand to my chest.
“That would be a really long list, and I’m not sure I should bore you with the details. After what you have seen, I don’t want to scare you away any more than I already have.”
“How long have you been sitting there like that?”
He shrugs. “Not that long. Did you know you talk in your sleep?”
“I do not.”
He nods. “You said something about a sandwich.”
There is no way I said anything about a sandwich. I sit up and push my hair back from my face. “The truck.” I throw the covers back. “I have to get it back to Marco.”
“Clay and Ares already took it back,” Vero says. “You mentioned it when we were cleaning up the flowers, so they got up early and returned it for you.”
I stop, one leg dangling out of the bed.
“Did you not think we heard you?”
I pull my leg back onto the bed. “It’s not that. I’m just used to doing things for myself.”
“We will always listen to you,” he says, getting up off the floor. I barely have time to shift over before he is on the bed beside me, pulling up the covers. He lays his head on the pillow and turns to look at me. “Can I ask you something?”
“I think you will anyway.”
He grins. “Your tattoos.” He reaches over and touches the inside of my wrist. “What do they mean?”
I have had them for so long that some days I forget they are there. “Different things.”
“That’s not really an answer.”
“It’s the best one I have right now.”
He nods as if he understands, but I have come to realize that with Vero it probably only means he understands how he has interpreted the answer.
“That one.” He points to a flower on the inside of my forearm. “What does that mean?”
I remember when I got it, and why flowers mean nothing to me as an apology.
“Someone once gave me flowers, and I thought it meant something, but it didn’t. I got this to remind myself not to read into things.”
“That’s really sad.”
“It was a life lesson.”
“Still sad.” He doesn’t push anymore; instead, he moves to where the colors get brighter around my elbow. “This one?”