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“Executive chef decision,” I said firmly, angling the stiff and limping alpha toward the guest suite where I’d been staying. “We arenotdoing two more flights of stairs. Clean up in the guest bath, and you can crash on my bed.”
Luca grunted as Emiel swayed against him. “Good call.”
Princess, who’d trotted upstairs ahead of us and was mostly doing an adequate job of staying out from underfoot, meowed her agreement.
“I can make it,” Emiel said stubbornly.
“Maybe you can,” I retorted, not trying very hard to keep the skepticism out of my voice. “I can’t, though. A shower’s a shower—so use mine.”
Emiel looked mulish, but he didn’t actively protest as we steered him into the comfortable guest bathroom. When he reluctantly reached in and turned on the water, Luca and I retreated outside to give him privacy.
“Can you keep an ear on him for a few minutes?” I asked. “I’ll run up to his room and grab him some pajamas or something.”
“Yeah, okay,” Luca said. He really did sound exhausted—not that I could blame him. “Mia... I kind of need some space for a few hours, okay? When you get back, I mean.”
I hesitated, but it was a completely fair request. The little internal twinge that tried to tell me I’d done something wrong, that he was angry at me for some reason, was a direct result of all the hormones still sloshing around in my body. Nothing more.
“Whatever you need, Luca,” I told him gently. “Are you okay, though? That can’t have been much easier for you than it was for him.”
Luca blew out a slow breath. “‘Okay’ isn’t the first word that comes to mind, no. But I’m not having a mental health crisis or anything. I’m just... really,reallytired, you know? And I think if I try to stay here, I’ll end up twitching awake whenever someone so much as breathes wrong.”
I reached out a hand and cupped his shoulder, rubbing my thumb over the sharp jut of a collarbone. “I get it. Hypervigilance is a bitch. Let me get Emiel’s stuff for him. Then you can curl up in your nest and let everything go for a bit, okay? I’ll look after this one.” I jerked my chin toward the bathroom door.
Luca nodded. “Thanks.”
I tugged him down until I could press a kiss to his forehead, wishing I could somehow wrap both of them up in cotton wool and protect them from the world. Then I turned and headed back to the main stairway, cursing concrete floors and unplanned heats as my joints protested the slow trip up to the converted attic bedroom.
I didn’t actually have the first clue where Emiel kept his sleepwear, and I felt like a terrible person getting into his dresser drawers like this. He must already feel like all of his privacy had been ripped away. Fortunately, the second drawer I glanced in held a collection of worn T-shirts and the kind of loose,soft sweatpants I’d seen him wearing once or twice around the house.
Grabbing one of each, I quickly backtracked and headed down again. If anything, walking down the stairs was worse than walking up them had been. God, I needed some proper sleep. Ibuprofen wouldn’t go amiss either.
My stomach rumbled, reminding me that if I was going to start dumping NSAIDs on it, I should probably eat something first. Which meant that Emiel and Luca should eat something, too. I threw the clothing over one shoulder and detoured to the kitchen, where I found Byron slumped morosely on a stool, a steaming mug of coffee sitting on the counter in front of him.
He cocked one bloodshot eye in my direction. “So. Couldn’t leave well enough alone, huh?”
It probably hadn’t taken much detective work to figure out that Luca and I had spent the night in the basement.
“He’s hurting, Byron,” I said tiredly.
One blond eyebrow quirked upward. “Yeah. Getting kicked in the head a few times’ll do that, I imagine.”
A surge of anger swelled in my stomach. I shoved it down. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it,” I told him. “There are things about him you don’t know. He needs help, and it’s past time someone tried to convince him to get it. Where’s Zalen?”
Byron seemed to deflate. “At the Project. He asked me to stay here for a few hours, in case there was a problem.” He looked at me steadily. “Isthere a problem?”
“Several of them, yeah,” I shot back. “But none that wouldn’t benefit from a solid day of sleep, I don’t think.”
He continued to look at me. I sighed.
“Emiel is lucid,” I said. “He can walk, although stairs are a challenge. He’s taking a shower as we speak. I’m going to whip up some protein smoothies for us, because he needs to eatsomething and get some fluids. He doesn’t need an ambulance or anything, as far as I can tell.”
“And you feel safe alone with him? You and Luca?” Byron asked, his tone inflectionless.
The anger roared back with a vengeance. I swelled up like an angry hedgehog, and the emotion must have come through loud and clear, because Byron’s eyes widened. He reared back an inch on his stool before visibly catching himself and going still.
“You donot...” I lifted a finger, pointing it in his face. “... imply that Emiel is some sort of unhinged danger to his housemates.Ever.”
Without waiting for an answer, I stalked around the kitchen island and started pulling out smoothie ingredients. Byron was silent as I measured and whizzed, pouring the contents of the blender into three insulated cups and grabbing extra-thick straws from a drawer.