I stared at the shredded knuckles of his right hand. It didn’t add up. If he’d fallen, shouldn’t the palms of his hands be bleeding?
But it was late, and I was glad he was home. We could talk about it in the morning.
He turned off the tap and took the hand towel I offered, patting his knuckles with it carefully.
“Do you need a Band-Aid?”
“No. It’s fine.”
I nodded, backing out so he could exit the bathroom. “Coming to bed?”
“In a minute. I’m going to hang out with Taylor. I’m too wired to sleep.”
“Okay. Sure.” I leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. “Don’t be long.”
“I won’t,” he said, turning to kiss me back.
As I walked upstairs, I wondered why he had lied about his hand and who had been on the receiving end of the punch, or punches, he had thrown. I felt like I knew the answer to that question, but I didn’t want to examine it right now. He was home, he was safe and he was ours, and that was all that mattered.
A little later, Matteo came into the room, undressed and slipped into bed beside Vincent. It was only at that point I was able to relax enough to fall back asleep, putting the other stuff out of my mind for now.
* * * *
My alarm woke me at six-fifteen. I shut it off and turned to see that Matteo and Vincent were already gone, presumably downstairs getting breakfast, since I couldn’t hear the shower running. The tumultuous events of the previous day came back to me. I pushed off the covers and headed into the bathroom for a perfunctory shower. I had a full day of classes and needed to talk to Matteo before he left for work.
Vincent was tidying up from breakfast when I got downstairs, although he handed me a coffee and a plate of cold toast.
“Good morning. I thought you’d be down earlier,” he said as I gave him a kiss on the cheek.
“Thanks. I didn’t sleep well. Must have hit the snooze on my alarm. I don’t remember doing it but…”
Matteo came in the room, holding his cell to his ear, speaking in hushed tones. He grabbed a pen and paper and went into the other room.
Fuck it. I exchanged a glance with Vincent, who shrugged. “He’s been on the phone most of the morning.”
“Yeah?”
“I think it’s Zarah. It must be.”
“Which is understandable, I suppose. They’ve been apart a long time,” I said.
“Yes,” he echoed.
I ate a couple of bites of the cold toast, realized I had no appetite and threw it back on the plate. I sipped my coffee, staring at the table.
“Are you all right, Nic?”
“I’m fine. Just…worried.”
“That’s not like you.”
“I think Matteo punched someone’s face last night. He came home with blood on his knuckles.”
Vincent’s mouth opened, then closed. “Holy shit,” he said after a few seconds.
“Yeah. And also, it’s the disruption of”—I waved my hand in the direction of Matteo—“everything.”
“Our usual morning routine?”
