Page 71 of Trigger

“Anymoment now.”

“Ibrought you a housewarming bottle of wine,” I said, handing him the bottle ofChenin Blanc. “Just don’t offer it to me. The mere thought of alcohol makes mesick.”

Hechuckled. “Same here. We’re going to save it for a special occasion. How isyour head?”

“Fine.How is your cheek?”

“Ithink this bruise gives me character,” he mused. “What do you think? Am Iprettier with it? Or without it?”

Irolled my eyes and walked up to him.

“Haveyou iced it?” I said, pressing my fingers to his chin and turning his head tothe side so I could examine the damage.

“Yes,Mom.”

“Whydoes it look purple, then?”

“Idon’t know, Mom.”

“Doesit hurt?”

“No,Mom.”

“You’relying to me, aren’t you?”

Whenhis doorbell rang, he grinned.

“Savedby the bell.”

Thorsen

Ireally was saved by the bell, both literally and metaphorically. First, I wasstarving. The day spent chasing bad guys could do that to you. Second, Carterwasn’t drilling me with questions anymore because his mouth was full. Sadly,only with food.

We atein silence, sitting on the floor, with our backs resting against the sofa. TheTV was on, but neither of us watched it. It was just a hum in the background,like the rain last night.

AfterI threw the takeaway boxes in the trash, I noticed Carter rolling his shouldersand twisting his head from side to side.

“What’swrong?”

“Idon’t know. I think that bald asshole dislocated my shoulder or something. Ithurts like the devil.”

Iwalked up to him and felt his shoulder, careful not to hurt him. “No… it’sprobably just a sprained muscle.”

“Doyou have a painkiller, by any chance?”

“Ihave something better,” I said, sitting on the sofa behind him. “I’ll give youa massage.”

Heburst into laughter. “No way in hell, Thorsen. I appreciate my bones too muchfor that, thank you.”

“I’m atrained semi-professional, Dominic,” I said, trying to reason with him.

“Sincewhen?”

“I wasmassagingmamanafter she started her chemo. Her back hurt from lying inbed all the time.”

“Oh,”he murmured, and there it was—that damn pity.

“Idon’t need your sympathy,” I growled. “I want to help you, so take it or not,but don’t act like I’m a lost puppy, okay?”

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