Page 178 of His To Erase
“I do when you’ve been acting like someone’s watching you.” His eyes narrow. “Jumping at shadows, checking your phone like it’s a bomb. You want to lie to me, fine—but don’t pretend something’s not going on.”
My mouth opens, but no sound comes out. He can’t know about the messages I keep getting, but he acts like he does.
“You don’t get to disappear and then show up playing house and telling me what to do.” I snap.
“I’m trying to keep you safe.”
I roll my eyes. “By keeping me locked in your house like a fucking pet?”
His voice drops to a low, dangerous tone. “You think I don’t see what you’re doing?”
“Oh, do tell,” I snap, crossing my arms. “What exactly am I doing, Steven?”
“You’re running.”
I lift a brow. “From you?”
“From whatever the fuck happened to you that makes you look like you’ve seen a ghost every time there’s a loud noise.”
I freeze. He hit the nerve—and the bastard knows it.
“I’m done with this conversation,” I mutter, brushing past him. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
His hand catches my wrist. “You can’t run from this.”
I yank free. “Watch me.”
I storm past him, fury clawing up my spine, but I don’t stop until I hit the kitchen.
Only then, when I’m alone, does it hit me. I rip open a cabinet like it owes me answers and yank out a box of mac and cheese like it personally betrayed me. I toss it on the counter a little too hard, but I don’t care.
I’m halfway through fumbling with the burner when I hear the quiet creak of the floorboards behind me. His presence fills the room like a thundercloud—quiet, heavy, and charged with things that haven’t been said.
I don’t turn around when I mutter, “I’m fine.”
“That’s not how you boil water.”
I whip around, glaring. “Jesus, what are you now, a chef?”
He nods at the stovetop. “You have to turn the burner on.”
I blink down at it, and it’s glowing. Just the wrong one. Fuck. I flip the right one and scowl. “Still doesn’t mean I need help.”
“I didn’t say you did,” he murmurs, stepping closer. “Just saying… you might burn the place down.”
I huff a laugh. “Yeah, well. Wouldn’t be the worst thing that’s happened this week.”
He stops a few feet away, arms crossed, watching me like I’m a puzzle he’s halfway solved but doesn’t quite believe yet.
“What?” I snap, grabbing the box and shaking it like that’ll intimidate him.
“You can’t keep pretending nothing’s wrong.”
“Says the man who disappears all day and then acts like I’m the problem.”
“I didn’t say you’re the problem.”
“You didn’t have to,” I mutter, dumping noodles into the pot even though the water isn’t boiling yet.
