Chapter 2
Rain
I step into the closet, pulling on a pajama shirt and the matching shorts.
When I walk back out, the expanse of the bedroom stretches between us.
The queen-sized bed sits in the center—a vast island I usually have to myself.
Our arrangement is defined by the very architecture of the space: two separate walk-in closets, two individual bathrooms, and a mattress wide enough to ensure two people can share it without ever risking a stray touch.
I pause near the closet door, my eyes landing on Cody. He struggles to lift his left leg onto the mattress, his jaw tight.
"Sprained ankle?"
He looks up, his dark eyes locking onto mine. He gives a single, sharp nod before returning to the struggle with his leg. I clear my throat, the sound loud in the quiet room. He pauses, looking up again.
"What happened?"
"I fell down the stairs when I wasn't looking," he says.
I walk over, stopping close to his side of the bed. He looks up at me, a line deepening between his brows, his posture growing rigid.
"Is there something you need?" he asks.
I shake my head, but my feet stay glued to the floor. The silence stretches, thick and heavy.
"Please speak, Rain," he says, irritation sharpening his tone.
"Do you need my help?" The words choke out of me.
His gaze pins me to the spot. He stares for a long, agonizing moment. My pulse quickens, and my hand instinctively clamps onto the hem of my shorts, my fingers twisting the fabric. He breaks the contact first, looking down at his foot.
"Help me get some pillows."
"Sure. To elevate your legs?"
"Yes."
That is our pattern. The awkwardness always stems from me forcing words into the silence while he rations his replies to the minimum.
I walk back into my closet to reach the top shelf where the extra bedding is stored. "How many should I get?" I call out.
"Three is fine, Rain," his voice carries back.
"Have you done a cold compress?" I ask, gripping the edge of the heavy, vacuum-sealed pillow pack.
"No."
"Do you need my help?" I tug at the plastic wrap. A soft groan escapes me as I strain my muscles, pulling the dense bundle free from the tight shelf.
I wait for his answer, the silence stretching again. "Do you—"
"Yes, please," he cuts in, his voice dropping to a low, quiet register. It sounds tentative, almost as if he is ashamed to ask for my assistance.
"Sure. Let me just get these to you."
I carry the pillows over, carefully stacking them at the foot of the bed. I gently lift his calf, feeling the heat radiating from his skin, and slide the support beneath his ankle until the joint is securely propped up.
A small smile touches my lips as I head down to the kitchen. I open the freezer, scooping ice cubes into a thick cotton towel, twisting the fabric into a tight, cold pack.
Back upstairs, I sit on the edge of the mattress and press the makeshift compress against the dark, swollen skin of his ankle. He winces slightly, then steadies his breathing.
"Thank you," he mutters.
"It's alright."
We sit in total stillness for fifteen minutes, the only sound being the slow drip of melting ice inside the cloth. When the time is up, I lift the towel and gently pat the damp skin dry with the corner of the fabric.
"All done, I guess."
He nods, his expression unreadable. "Thank you."
I hesitate, a sentence forming, an offer to repeat this every night until the swelling goes down. But I catch myself. I slide my chair back, standing up to take the damp towel away.
"I don't know if it's possible for you to do this every night before we sleep," his voice stops me. "Maybe for a week."
My back is turned to him, and the smile returns to my face, bright and involuntary. I turn around, keeping my voice even. "Sure."
I walk down the hallway toward the kitchen, a faint, unfamiliar melody humming in my mind.
You are acting like a woman starved of affection, a voice whispers in my mind. Like a dog scrambling for crumbs.
The smile vanishes instantly. I walk into the kitchen and toss the remaining ice into the sink, watching the cubes rattle against the stainless steel. I rinse the towel, wringing it out until my knuckles ache, and hang it over the drying rack.
I lean heavily against the edge of the counter, staring into the dark drain, and let out a long, ragged sigh.
"I am starved of affection."