Chapter Seven
The two of them follow me into the apartment. Mark made a few attempts to dissuade Tommy and failed all of them. I listened with interest because when I’ve been on the receiving end, Mark has managed to convincemeto do what he wants. I’m weak-willed when it comes to him.
Mark walks me to the couch. “I’ll heat up one of your prepped meals so you can take those pills,” he says.
Tommy looks around as Mark strides to the fridge.
“Any preference?” Mark calls.
“Anything’s good.”
Tommy goes to the window and looks out at the city. “You weren’t lying,” he says after a careful inspection.
I cast him a quizzical look.
“You always said Louis was the one who made the mess in your house,” Tommy says.
“I always cleaned up after myself,” I reply.
“Yet the house was just a pig short of being a pigsty all year,” Tommy says. He approaches and sets my bag down next to me. “You live alone now?”
I nod.
“Like it?”
I nod again. “I miss the guys, too, though.”
Tommy grins. “Not as much as you appreciate the peace and quiet.”
“I wouldn’t be able to study in the house if I was still living with everyone.”
“Does that matter?” Tommy eyes the books on the coffee table. “Bethany said you’re in the library till closing every night. Unless you were just saying that to turn down her night-out invitations?”
“I wasn’t lying.”
“Here.” Mark hands me a plate of warmed-up lasagne. He walks in front of me, forcing Tommy to take a step back, and then he sits—as he always does—at my left, next to my bad leg. He places his hand on my thigh and fixes his gaze on Tommy.
Tommy looks from that hand to Mark’s face—and I can see in his expression that he’s irritated.
I’m not irritated. I’m not sure what I am. It’s just the way Mark has his hand anchored on my thigh, and the way he’s looking at Tommy feels…protective. My mouth dries and I forget momentarily about the pain in my leg as I become preoccupied with interpreting the dynamic.
“I can look up the bus times for you,” Mark tells Tommy.
Oh wow. I bite my cheek so I don’t laugh. That was far from a subtle “get lost”. When I see the expression on Mark’s face, it’s clear to me he wasn’t going for subtle.
Tommy might really hit him.
“Mark…” I say.
Mark glances at me, and helooks irritated, too, despite being the one picking a fight. His daze darts down to my leg, and back up to my face. His fingers flex, squeezing my thigh. Ah—I get it. Mark’s not being a dick to Tommy for the sake of it. He’s vexed because he wants to take off my prosthetic but can’t do it with Tommy here.
“I’ll take it off after the stronger painkillers,” I say softly so only he will hear. “It’ll hurt less, then.”
Mark nods his understanding.
Tommy sits in the soft sofa chair next to the couch. He sends a few messages on his phone while I take a few bits of lasagne.
“Are either of you hungry?” I ask, feeling awkward that they’re both just sitting here waiting for me to eat. “You can have anything out of the fridge if you’d like.” It’s lunch, after all.
