Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
The lab door bursts open.
I’m lost in thought, sitting at my desk and not really doing anything. I glance at my phone when I hear Joshua’s laugh and realize it’s already past five.
I haven’t seen either of them since dinner last night. They worked later than I did at the bar because of some robbery, and they had to do paperwork afterward.
Joshua texted me, saying he didn’t want to wake me up because they got home late. So, he slept in his room, but I didn’t like sleeping by myself.
I was up most of the night, tossing and turning. Being alone isn’t good for me. It makes me overthink things, causing my brain to be too wound up to sleep.
I spent the whole day in college and now working, thinking about what could have upset him.
Did I do something? Has he had enough of me? Or maybe he didn’t want to share a bed with me because he’s tired of how I behave around Clay and Xander?
Just as I’m thinking this, Clay comes over to my desk. I look up and see a cut under his black eye, then quickly stand and round the desk to stand in front of him.
“What happened?” I ask, gripping his face and pulling it down to me.
“Ouch.” He winces, and I think I might’ve grabbed him too hard. But then he gives me a smirk. “It’s just a little scrape, but you might send me to the hospital at this rate.”
“Hospital?” I ask, panicking a bit as I turn his head to get a better look. “What happened, Clay?”
“That robber I texted you about? He hit Clay over the head with a gun because Clay’s a fucking idiot,” Joshua interjects from beside me.
I glance at Joshua, seeing clear frustration on his face. But my concern is focused on Clay, who looks terrible. “Does it hurt? Are you okay?” I ask, my pitch a little too high as I search his face.
“Hey, it’s just a bruise,” he reassures me, his gaze softening.
His hand reaches up to touch mine, gently stroking the back of it.
“He said gun. Why were you even close enough to get hit by someone with a fucking gun?” My concern quickly turns to anger.
“He tried to talk the guy into dropping it,” Josh explains, sounding exasperated.
“What the hell, Clay,” I exclaim, shoving him away. “You could’ve been shot! You could have died!” Tears form in my eyes, a mix of frustration and fear, and I punch his chest.
“Easy,” he soothes, but I can’t stop hitting him, and he lets me.
“No,” I murmur, the force behind my fists diminishing. “You promised.”
He gently grabs my wrists, holding them to his chest, and with his other hand, he lifts my chin so our eyes meet. “I’m okay. Nothing bad happened. I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers.
I take a deep breath, trying to regain my composure. As I relax, he releases me, and Joshua gives me a comforting side hug, kissing my temple. “Come on, let’s feed the idiot.”
Sophia is in another corner of the cafeteria, getting herself a sandwich. I stand in front of the salad bar while Clay and Joshua are in line at the hot meal section.
Joshua was craving something fried, and Clay decided to join him for some fries and nuggets with a murmured, “Fuck it.”
As I’m about to grab a plate, a shiver runs down my spine, and I sense someone behind me.
“I don’t think the salad can help you anymore.” Del Moro sneers from behind me.
“Fuck off,” I snap, taking a step forward to put some distance between us, but he shadows my movement.
“You were warned to stop digging,” he whispers in my ear. I sidestep, trying to escape, but he catches my upper arm, yanking me back toward him. “Fucking listen to me, Costa!”
“If I wanted to hear from an asshole, I would have farted.” I jerk my arm free.
“Just remember, accidents happen. Your parents had to learn that too,” he growls out, his eyes cold and threatening.
“Martin, dude, let’s just go,” Taylor begs nervously, standing behind Del Moro.
“Enjoy your salad, fatty,” Del Moro utters, walking away, Taylor in tow.
“What the hell was that?” Sophia asks, rushing over to me. “Sorry, I just saw him leave.”
“It’s fine, nothing happened. But they really want us to stop looking closer,” I whisper, my heart still racing.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say we’re onto something,” she whispers in response.
“We sure are,” I agree.
But I don’t know if this is a good thing.