“I warmed up some chicken noodle soup.” Tonya held out the bowl. “I remember you spit it onto the floor the other day.”
The scent hits me instantly—comforting, rich, warm. I had refused to eat it before, not because it tasted bad. It was actually amazing. But I was pissed. Stubborn.
“Thank you,” I murmur, lifting the bowl to my nose, letting the steam roll over my face like a balm.
“You might be the first person who’s ever hated my cooking. The guys at the clubhouse lick their plates clean.”
“Tonya, I could’ve cooked.”
“Could we trust you not to poison us, then sneak out the back?” Her voice is dry, but her eyes are serious.
“I told you how he felt about you upfront. You just couldn’t leave well enough alone.”
“Gee, thanks for reminding me. For, what, the hundredth time in the past four days.” I set the bowl and spoon on the nightstand and sigh.
“Why didn’t you tell me he was hurt?” I feel the tears biting the backs of my eyes.
“You were so pissed at him I didn’t think you cared.”
“Tonya, it’s hard to like a person who holds you at gun point and locks you up.”
She sighs and visibly swallows. Tears pool in her eyes. “When Webbs and Flock opened the door to the mudroom I gasped. Blood was pouring from the gunshot wound. He yelled Sophie! Sophie.”
My heart aches.
“He wanted you. Needed you. It was touch and go for days. But the second he could walk on his own he went straight to you. I don’t think he ever wanted to lock you in that basement. And Iknowhe didn’t want to leave you there that long.”
I look away, blinking hard. My chest aches. He almost died.
“Thanks, Tonya… for being here. For me. And for Mavis.”
She pulls me into a hug. “Eat and relax.”
I squeeze her back. “I will.”
Tonya releases me, walks out, and closes the door behind her.
I sink on the bed and shove a spoonful of the chicken noodle soup into my mouth. My eyes roll in the back of my head. This is the best chicken noodle soup I’ve ever had.
I ponder on her words. He called my name after he’d been shot. How can I stay mad at him? I don’t know.
Twenty minutes later, I’m resting under the blanket. The air-conditioning has to be set on North Pole cold.
Tonya’s done enough. I’ll wake up in an hour and check on him. I can help Mavis.
Deep down I want him near. I long to smell his scent. What’s wrong with me? Am I falling for my captor.
∞
I stand at the side of Mavis’s bed, reading the labels on the medication bottles lined up on the nightstand.
“What are you doing?” he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep as his eyes slowly blink open.
“Just looking,” I say flatly.
My gaze sharpens. “Why were you in my room last night?”
“You know why,” he replies, voice scratchy but sure.
