Fracture (Blood & Roses #3-4) - Callie Hart Page 0,37
bathroom for crying out loud. The rest of the day goes by with me feeling flushed and distinctly like I just got caught with my pants down. And my shirt off. While being instructed to do rather graphic things to myself.
I want to smack Zeth so hard my palms tingle with need for the rest of my shift. When it’s finally time for me to clock off, I find Lacey asleep in the on-call room where I left her, swaddled in blankets. She doesn’t look like she’s moved at all since this morning. She blinks groggily at me when I wake her and we leave St. Peter’s via the rear exit, firstly to avoid the curious eyes of the nursing staff, secondly so I don’t run into Oliver again (just in case), and thirdly so I can try and sneak the Volvo out of the lot without being seen by any mysterious black cars with tinted windows.
Everything goes off without a hitch. No nursing staff, no Oliver and miraculously no black car. It isn’t even parked outside the coffee place anymore, which makes me feel kind of foolish. Maybe whoever it was this morning just happened to be going the same way as us and felt like stopping off quickly for a coffee on the way to work. Both Lacey and I watch carefully all the way home, though, just to make sure.
I park the car and we head inside. I make sure all the windows and doors are triple locked just as a precautionary measure. The action brings to mind Zeth snooping around the place, inspecting every square inch to make sure it measured up to his idea of secure. He probably already knew he was bringing Lacey here to dump her on my doorstep, and wanted to make sure she would be safe. The thought plummets me into an irrationally sour mood.
“I’m too tired to cook. You’re just gonna have to make do with takeout.” I clip out the words sharply, hurling them over my shoulder at the girl following behind me, and I immediately regret it. A shutter comes down across her already wary features.
“It’s okay,” she says mechanically. “I can cook.”
“No. Shit, no, I’m—I’m sorry, Lace. I’ve just had a really long day.” I blow out a long breath, scratching at my forehead. I haven’t had a roommate since college and even then I didn’t do all that well living with other people. This situation is especially awkward because of Lacey’s fragility. I’m terrible for being shitty with her because of him, though. Because, if I’m startlingly honest with myself, I am jealous of the bizarre relationship they share.
“I don’t want you to cook. I really do just want takeout. Is that okay?”
She nods, hanging her head and making her way to the breakfast bar where she seems to have found a place for herself where she feels inconspicuous. I rifle out the vast array of home delivery menus—I eat crap most nights—and I let her pick. She chooses Chinese food, selects what she wants and to my amazement orders the meals for us, too, providing my address without even having to ask for it. I crack open a bottle of wine, much needed, and offer her a glass. She shrugs her shoulders in a why the hell not? kind of motion and we settle on the couch, the TV playing quietly in the background while we wait for our dinner to arrive.
I’m still struggling with the bitter taste in my mouth despite the delicious red wine, though. I decide to get it the hell over with and find out once and for all what on earth is going on with them. “So…” I begin. The best place to start when broaching a topic without a decent segue. “I know you told Pippa you didn’t know why you liked being with Zeth so much, but I thought—”
Lacey quickly brings the wine glass up to hide most of her face, holding it with two hands. She chugs at the wine, way too fast. Her eyes are watering considerably when she lowers the vessel. With a guarded look in her eye, she peers at me sideways. From her reaction, I was actually going to let the matter drop, but she chooses to speak of her own accord. “I found him,” she says simply. “I was looking for him for a long time, and I found him.”
Well that’s a confusing statement if ever I’ve heard one. “Found him, like