Page 93 of Captive Omega

“Of course I was worried, you idiot,” I snap. “Did you not notice me whispering so I wouldn’t be responsible for a star landing in your eye?”

He studies me for a beat, a soft smile curving his lips, then he pats the space beside him. “Lie down for a sec.”

I eye him warily. “Is this a friend thing or your version of a friend?” His version of friends is decidedly more than friendly than mine.

He looks surprisingly serious. “I won’t try anything. Promise.”

After hesitating for a beat, I stretch out on the bed beside him. I’ve barely seen Garrison and Blaine during my period of bedrest. I’m not sure if I’m disappointed they’re staying away or relieved.

Last night, I heard Garrison reminding Vaughn that my appointment was at 9 and he should let me get some rest. He hadn’t known that I don’t really sleep, so if Vaughn wasn’t hanging around my room, sprawled out in the weirdest positions over my carpet, I’d get the same amount of sleep as I usually do. Probably less.

I’ve enjoyed having Vaughn around, so even though he told me to kick him out the second I’m sick of him, I haven’t been tempted to even once.

“Are you sure you don’t want breakfast?” he asks. “I can try my hand at waffles and get that fancy apple juice you’re addicted to.”

Yes, it’s an addiction, and no, I’m nowhere close to giving it up yet. I tell myself I am, but it’s a lie.

I shake my head. The offer is sweet, but breakfast isn’t an option. The way my belly is churning, I wouldn’t make it to the clinic before I was throwing everything up again.

For the longest moment, Vaughn doesn’t speak.

“I’m good with my hands.”

I should have known better. Heaving a sigh, I move to get up.

“I was a pickpocket in California. I started with bags on the beaches, then moved onto pockets until I got caught,” he says before I’ve sat all the way up. “Which is why I got sent to juvie.”

I peer over my shoulder. He’s still flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

Since this isn’t turning into Vaughn’s version of friends, I lie back down again. “Why’d you do it?”

“My mom worked in a diner and didn’t earn much. If she had shit tips, we were lucky if we had enough food for the week. I grew up near the beach and saw how much shit people always left lying around, so I thought I could help myself to stuff they wouldn’t miss.” He must see my raised eyebrow because he sighs. “Yes, I know. I was young, blond, and stupid.”

“I think you can remove one of those things from the list for being to blame. And not the young or stupid thing.” I snort.

He barks out a laugh and I smile, surprised that I can smile at all after the last two years of hell.

He lifts his arm. “Come here.”

My eyes narrow. “Hmm…”

“When the judge sentenced me, it was…” He swallows hard enough for me to track his bobbing Adam’s apple. “Without a doubt, it was one of the most terrifying things that had ever happened to me. I was sixteen, and I thought my life was over. It’s okay to be afraid, and I’d like to give you a hug if you let me.”

“No funny business?”

He shakes his head. “No funny business.”

I shuffle toward him and rest my head on his shoulder as he wraps his arms around my back, giving me a gentle squeeze.

“Everything will be okay, Resa. And if shit gets scary, we’ll be right there with you.”

How many times over the last two years did I wish for this? Someone to comfort me. To hug me. To care.

I squeeze my eyes as a prickle starts up at the back of my eyelids, not wanting to cry. “Thanks, Vaughn. And thanks for?—”

“Juggling? It’s okay if you want to tell me you’re impressed. I won’t get a big head. Garrison says it’s big enough, and not likely to get any bigger.”

I snort a laugh. “You mean nearly having spiked stars fall into your face? No.” I peel away and look at him. “For the other thing. Taking me to the clinic.”

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