Page 96 of Ruthless Regret

I check the door. It’s locked. I can’t set the house alarm, but I can make sure all the other doors are locked. Once I’m certain no one can walk in, I go into the living room, and turn on the television. I channel hop looking for something to watch, to distract me, but nothing holds my attention. Hours crawl by. I couldn’t tell you what was playing out on the screen, because my thoughts keep going to Zain.

What is he doing? Why hasn’t he come out of his room? Is he okay?

As night deepens, the house creaks and settles around me, each sound making me jump. I’m tired, I should go to bed. I’m sure that’s what Zain has done. But the thought of being alone in my room, facing the nightmares I know are waiting, makes my stomach churn.

Would Zain stay with me again?

No, don’t be ridiculous.

I pace the living room, debating with myself.

Should I go up there? Ask him to stay with me?

It’s a stupid idea, especially given our complicated history. But the alternative—lying alone in the dark, jumping at every sound—seems unbearable.

He'll probably say no. Last night was a one-off.

Then I remember the look in his eyes when we first got back to the house.

I take a step toward the stairs, then stop.

What if I'm reading this all wrong? What if he laughs at me, or worse, reverts to how he was treating me at the start of the week?

I turn away, determined to tough it out on my own. But when I reach for the light switch, a particularly loud creak sounds from upstairs. I freeze, heart pounding.

This is ridiculous. I'm a grown woman. I shouldn't need someone to hold my hand through the night.

But the truth is, Idoneed someone. And maybe … just maybe … Zain might, too.

Before I can talk myself out of it again, I'm climbing the stairs. I think about turning back with every step I take … but I don't.

When I finally reach his door, my heart is racing.

You can do this. The worst he can do is say no.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself, and knock softly. "Zain?"

Silence.

I wait, counting my heartbeats.

One ...

Two ...

Three ...

Still nothing.

I should leave, go back to my bedroom … so why am I turning the handle? The bedroom beyond is empty, which throws me for a second, but then my eyes lock on the light spilling from beneath the bathroom door. I walk over to it, every nerve on edge.

"Zain?"

When there's no response, I push the door open, holding my breath.

The sight that greets me stops me in my tracks.

Zain is stretched out in the bathtub, fully clothed, a blanket tangled around his legs. It's such a strange scene that for a moment, I think I must be dreaming. But then the memory of him in a similar position at his parents' house fills my mind, and my heart clenches.

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