Grace and Glory (The Harbinger #3) - Jennifer L. Armentrout Page 0,21

soda cans on the kitchen island and the dishes in the sink were most definitely not Zayne. The mess was the result of any number of the people who’d been here, but the package of Oreos ripped open down the middle was definitely me.

If Zayne was here to see this, he would...he would probably sigh and then get down to cleaning like the place needed to be decontaminated. That brought a smile to my lips.

And another pang to the chest.

Toeing my sneakers off, I dragged myself away from the door, shuffled over to the couch, and found the remote. I turned the TV off and, unable to deal with the silence, I turned the TV back on five seconds later.

I then headed into the narrow, short hall that led to two bedrooms. The one to the left was empty. Zayne had said that was his room for when I got annoyed with him. There was only one bed, and he’d put it in my room, but my room was really our room. I stared at the door left ajar. I stood there for what felt like an eternity before I pushed the door open.

I didn’t dare look up. I couldn’t do it—couldn’t look directly at the stars Zayne had placed on the ceiling. I could barely deal with the faint, soft glow of them. Keeping my gaze lowered, I smacked around on the wall until I found the light switch, then walked past the unmade bed and rummaged around in the clothing spilling out of my suitcase until I found clean pajamas.

Walking into the bathroom, I turned the light on as I nudged the door shut behind me. In the mirror, I saw myself for the first time since I’d left the apartment.

The pajama bottoms slipped from my fingers, falling quietly to the floor. I left them there as I walked forward. My reflection shocked me.

My dark hair had dried in a ratty mess, but that was nothing new. Neither were the blue-tinted healing bruises along my cheeks, under my eyes. It was the new ones, the bruises that were more purplish along my chin. The new ones that had joined the healing ones around my throat.

I closed my eyes and clamped my jaw down, fighting the building scream. I wanted to scream until my throat hurt and my ears rang. I wanted to scream until I couldn’t feel anything ever again, because this wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. Not for me. Not for Zayne. If it wasn’t too late, if I could bring him back and if he remembered this, he would...

It would kill a part of him.

God. I missed Zayne.

I missed Jada.

I missed Thierry and Matthew.

I missed Peanut’s goofy ass.

But I knew if I talked to Jada or Thierry and Matthew, they would be worried about me—about all of this—and I didn’t want to do that to them. Especially when there was nothing they could do. It wasn’t like they could come here. With Gabriel lurking around, it was far too dangerous.

There was a small, childish part of me, though, that wanted to not only rewind time, but to also change the past to one where we were all at...like a barbecue or something. Even Cayman would be there, and Peanut would be doing something weird, like pretending to eat the hot dog someone was actually eating.

But I couldn’t rewind time or change the past.

Heart and chest heavy, I moved away from the mirror and turned on the shower, cranking up the hot water. Stripping the soiled clothing off me, I stepped in. Air hissed through my clenched teeth as the hot spray hit old and new abrasions. I pushed through it, watching the pink and brown water circle the drain until it cleared. I washed my hair twice and overloaded the loofa with so much body wash the pineapple and mango scented gel oozed down my arm. By the time I was done, the bathroom was a steamy fruit basket.

Once dressed in the pajamas, I picked up Zayne’s comb and worked out the tangles in my hair, hoping that there’d be a chance for him to get annoyed over that later. Leaving the bathroom, I grabbed the pillow and blanket, taking them out into the living room. I turned the corner of the couch into a bed and eased down, wrapping the blanket around me. The blanket smelled sweet, like chocolate and the sugary wine Matthew liked to drink. It smelled like Bambi—Roth’s familiar. The six-foot snake