Chapter 24
Lydia
I thought I wouldn’t be able to fall asleep knowing that Daniel was in my apartment, but I ended up passing out pretty quickly. He made me feel safe when I didn’t feel safe alone in my own space anymore. I didn’t know what to do with that.
He left my bedroom door open, so I walked in quietly to the closet to grab some clothes. I’d probably wake him when I showered, but I couldn’t really start my day without it.
Tough shit, Daniel.
I got dressed in baggy jeans and a fitted black t-shirt, and brushed my hair back, leaving it to air dry. When I got out, the bed was made, and I could hear him in the kitchen.
He was standing over the stove in light blue boxer shorts and no shirt, and goddamn he looked nice.
“Good morning, Daniel.”
He turned around and smiled, his disheveled hair somehow making him look even better. Surprisingly, he didn’t look tired after sleeping in my bed, which probably felt like cardboard compared to the quality he was used to.
“I made coffee and breakfast.” He handed me a mug and a plate with what looked like a pretty good omelet. There was nowhere to sit in my kitchen, so I just leaned on the counter and took a big sip.
“Hmm.” That first sip was good. “Thanks.”
He cleared his throat and stepped closer. “How’d you sleep?”
“Good. You?”
“Uh… good. I’m serious though. Our little secret? Jake finds out I took your bed…” His cheeks were getting a little red.
I smiled. “Yeah, yeah.” We stood there at the kitchen counter for a few minutes, drinking coffee and eating while I, apparently, stared at a tattoo of a skull with two rifles on his chest.
“Lydia…”
“Hmm?”
“I think you zoned out.”
“Your tattoo. Rangers?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Don’t you get those on your arms usually?”
“Nah, not really. Jake has one on his back. Cole has one somewhere on his arms, if you can find it between all the others.”
He took my hand and put it on his chest. My first instinct was to pull back, but I didn’t want to, and that both surprised and scared me.
“Do you feel that?” His voice was a little hoarse.
He moved my fingers over the skull. There was a little bump underneath where the skin felt harder and thicker—a scar.
I traced the shape of it with my finger.
Round, with harsh edges and a slight indentation at the center.
A bullet wound. I had seen my fair share of those when I was younger.
“You’re covering a scar,” I said, nodding because I understood not wanting to be reminded of an injury. Mine covered scars, too, though I’d have to tattoo a lot more to cover them all.
“Daniel, we need to talk about what’s going on.”