Page 103 of Dangerous Men

“Go,” I tell him, making my voice as firm as I can. “And don’t come back again, Chase. I mean it. We’re done.”

I almost expect him to put up a fight. To show Sebastian that same anger he so easily unleashed on me, time and time again. But that’s not how cowards act.

“We’re not done,” Chase mutters, shooting me one last furious look before he turns to leave. “Not by a long shot.”

I stare daggers at him as he walks away. It’s not until he’s gone and out of sight that I can finally breathe again. I count to ten. I try to think happy thoughts. I try to remember my therapy mantras.

I can’t think of any. Not today.

“Did he hurt you?” Sebastian asks, turning toward me. There’s an intensity in his eyes I’ve never seen before.

Hurt me? Even where he’d grabbed me, it hadn’t hurt. Just … surprised me. But I’d been worried, for a moment. Reminded of the times he had…

I shake my head.

Sebastian nods slowly. “Good. That’s good.” A drop of blood falls from his split knuckles onto the pavement. He doesn’t even seem to notice.

“We should get some ice on that,” I tell him, taking him by the other hand and tugging him toward my place. “Come on.”

He’s pliant as I drag him up the stairs and to my apartmentdoor. But he stops in the doorway, frozen, after I unlock it and let myself inside.

Sebastian stares at the threshold like he can’t bring himself to cross it.

“Are you a vampire or something?” I ask, smirking. “Do you really need an invitation to come in?”

“No. No, I just…” He stares around at my place but doesn’t move. You’d think I was asking him to commit a mortal sin, just by inviting him inside.

I shake my head, making my way toward the kitchen. “Jesus, come in, you freak. Stop being so weird about it.”

He takes a long breath and finally steps inside, closing the door behind him.

“I don’t know if vampires need permission to use the furniture,” I call out to him as I open up my freezer door. “But you should sit down.”

I don’t own any ice packs, and whatever ice I have is buried beneath several months' worth of frozen dinners. I pluck a freezer-burned package of peas out of the mess of ice cream and microwave meals, and wrap it in a paper towel, hoping it will be better than nothing.

“Has he done this before?” Sebastian asks when I come back into the living room. His eyes are piercing as he watches me from the couch. “Followed you home?”

“No, never. I haven’t even seen him since he came by the café.” It feels strange talking about it. “And before that, not since the charity banquet.”

I sit down next to him, taking his injured hand and holding the bag of frozen vegetables against his knuckles. When my leg touches his, he flinches, going tense.

“Does it hurt?” I ask.

Sebastian shakes his head.

“I barely feel it,” he says. He won’t look at me. His eyes areglued on the wall, the fingers of his left hand tapping ceaselessly against the couch.

There’s a brown paper bag on the floor between his legs.

“What’s in the bag?” I ask, frowning at it.

Sebastian’s eyes flick to it and then to mine so quickly I almost miss it.

“Epsom salt,” he says softly. “For your pain.”

Oh.

After he’d taken that phone call earlier, I’d forgotten all about him promising to get me some. It’s a nice gesture. Strangely kind, coming from him.