Page 114 of Skeletons in the Closet

Then he leaned in, and his lips landed on the faint silver scar that lived under my eye.

“I’m okay. Stop fretting.”

“I’m not fretting.

He didn’t believe me.

It was a lie.

The wet impression of Tallus’s lips stayed with me as I wandered the hall, looking for a nurse. I managed my temper and got someone to confirm when Tallus could leave. A couple more hours, they said.

Instead of running to a restaurant, I found the cafeteria and bought him a sad-looking egg salad sandwich and a bottle of water. There were no lattes and no peanut butter cookies to be had.

Tallus seemed grateful, even though the food was shit, and ate every crumb while watching me watch him.

His mother came by in the afternoon, and I stepped into the hallway to give them time together, but I refused to go far, pacing the halls for the entire hour she visited. I overheard Tallus downplay the situation and give her a less-than-honest reason why he’d been at the university.

My guilt compounded.

25

Tallus

Diem wouldn’t take his gaze off me. However, there were also times he couldn’t make eye contact, but he refused to leave me alone for more than five minutes. Even when my mother showed up, he hovered, constantly peeking in the room as he paced the hallway. The man might be physically incapable of initiating touch, but he’d somehow wrapped me in a figurative blanket and wouldn’t let go.

When the hospital discharged me at five that evening, he stood close to be sure I was steady as we walked to the Jeep. I was completely fine by that point, but there was no convincing him otherwise. He drove straight to his office. When I aimed for my vehicle, intent on heading home—although unsure how I would drive with compromised vision—he growled in warning.

I cocked a brow—which hurt my face—and Diem took me by the arm and directed me toward the office. No questions asked. No arguing. I wasn’t going anywhere. I didn’t think it was thetime to mention that he was getting handsy and demanding again.

We took the elevator—apparently, I couldn’t walk up a few flights of stairs—and he deposited me on the couch in his apartment while he made us dinner. His cupboards were as bare as mine, but he located canned soup and a sleeve of crackers. Like earlier, I felt his gaze on me, watching me eat every bite, seemingly studying my bruises, unless I glanced up, then he looked away.

“I’m fine. Stop worrying.”

He didn’t stop.

I’d never seen Diem so unhinged. He clearly blamed himself for what had happened, and there was no convincing him otherwise.

After dinner, he turned on the TV and flipped through the channels, settling on a police drama I would have ordinarily enjoyed. But my vision was so compromised by my broken glasses it was hard to watch. When I closed my eyes, Diem jolted upright and asked if I was nauseous, or dizzy, or faint, or if I needed to go back to the hospital.

“I’m fine.”

When I set my glasses on the coffee table, he asked if my headache was returning.

“D, relax. I’m okay. Truly. Can you take me home? I’m tired and don’t think I can drive with my glasses shattered. It’s been a long day, and I want to go to bed.”

“No.”

I chuckled and opened my eyes, peering sidelong at where he hovered on the edge of the couch. His oversized frame and facial expression were lost in a blur, but I could imagine the look he was giving me.

“It’s getting late. You’ve babysat me all day. The doctor gave me a clean bill of health. Please take me home.”

He didn’t respond, cracking his knuckles and wringing his hands. It was obvious he had something to say and was chewing on the words, unable to spit them out.

“Talk to me, Diem?”

“Stay.”

“What?”

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