“Huh.” He sounded surprised. “So that’s… not so bad, I guess.”
I snorted. I couldn’t help it. “It’s bullshit is what it is,” I said. “But at least there’s a chance we do catch this asshole.”Or set ofassholes. But I didn’t think saying that part out loud would help Elliot feel any better.
He sighed again, his weight still leaning against me. “Seth?”
“Yeah?” I tightened my arms around him a little.
“Stay?”
“Of course.” I’d been planning on arguing with him about it, but I guess I didn’t have to. A few minutes went by again, and my back really started bothering me. “Can we do this on the couch, though?” I asked, trying not to be rude, but really needing to sit down before my back did something I wouldn’t recover from for days.
Elliot immediately pulled away. “Oh. Yeah. Of course.”
I grimaced. “I’m sorry, I just… I spent too much time bent over and my back is… pretty bad.” I’d been going to saykilling me, but that particular set of words didn’t seem to be the best choice at the moment.
“Do you want some Tylenol or something? A heating pad?”
I’d really just wanted to sit down, but the idea of a heating pad sounded pretty great. I said so, and Elliot slipped off the stool and disappeared down the hallway, his bare feet shuffling a little against the carpet.
Feeling uncertain, I made my way into the living room, lowering myself carefully to the couch cushions and breathing through the pain as my back settled. I closed my eyes, drawing in deep breaths as the cramping started to ease.
“Are you okay?” Elliot’s voice asked, tinged with genuine concern.
I opened my eyes. “Fine,” I replied. “Just too much crouching.”
He was frowning, an electric heating pad in one hand. “You’re what, barely thirty?”
“Almost thirty-one, thank you.”
“Still too young to be in that much pain.”
I opened one eye. “Oh, well, I’ll just stop being in pain then.” It wasn’t the nicest thing I could have said, but I get short-tempered when the pain gets too bad.
Elliot just looked at me, then came over and put a hand behind my shoulders, pushing me away from the couch gently so that he could put the heating pad behind me. I shifted it to the right place. “Sorry,” I muttered at him. “I’m?—”
“Tylenol?” he asked me.
“Doesn’t do anything,” I replied glumly.
He plugged in the heating pad, then turned it up a few levels. “Let me know if it gets too hot.”
“Elliot, I am?—”
“It’s okay,” he said gently. “Will you—will you let me make you some of Dad’s tea?”
I knew what he was asking. “What’s in it?” I asked him.
“Turmeric, ginger, willow bark, cloves, fennel, and white tea leaves.”
I was skeptical that it would do anything, but none of that should hurt me. And tea was warm, at least. “Okay,” I agreed meekly. After snapping at him, trying to be nice was the least I could do.
He nodded, then disappeared. I heard him open a door, then his feet padding down the stairs to the basement.
I closed my eyes and tried to let the heat relax the muscles in my lumbar spine. The heat felt nice, but the spasms weren’t ready to calm down. Experience told me it would probably be another few hours, at least.
I hoped that if the asshole who had skinned the badger came back, he—or they—at least waited long enough for my back to be semi-functional.
More footsteps, these coming up the stairs, then the sound of cupboards and dishes in the kitchen. Running water. Moremovement. Rustling. Cabinet doors. Then the whistle of a kettle. Water pouring. The sound of a spoon in ceramic.
