Page 5 of In Death’s Hands (The Threads of Fate #1)

“Liv! There you are, I’ve been worried sick!” Isaiah’s voice rings through the coffee shop while I rush behind the counter and into the back room.

When I come back out less than a minute later, fastening my apron on, Joana is serving a client while eyeing me up and down, as if checking for injuries. Ah, if she only knew! “Girl, we were about to call the police!”

I roll my eyes. “I’m only one hour late. That’s happened to you more than once if memory serves.”

“But not to you ,” Isaiah points out before greeting the next customer.

It’s the lunch rush and they already have a backlog of orders that I hurry to help Joana with.

Ignoring her pointed looks at what I’m wearing, I focus on preparing the drinks.

I didn’t have time to go home to change into my own clothes, and if I were honest with myself, I’d admit to how comfortable I feel in his.

I let muscle memory take over. Three pumps of caramel, froth the milk, add an indecent amount of espresso shots.

Next. I usually enjoy my work, the fast pace, the friendly atmosphere and the never-ending parade of faces, but all my still-hurting head can focus on right now is him.

Nathan. The mysterious man who’s cared for me more in the last twelve hours than anyone else in my life since that night.

It’d been a battle to leave his house, and as annoyed as I was with him, it was oddly endearing.

After devouring the food he had so kindly offered, I quickly gathered my stuff and promised to give him back his clothes soon.

The small laugh that escapes me as I recall his outrage at my leaving draws concerned looks from my colleagues that I promptly ignore.

It was like my going back to work after what happened had personally offended him, and though I still can’t grasp why he felt that way, I find it rather cute.

It had taken trickery for me to escape. Not that I believe him to be a deranged kidnapper anymore, if I ever truly did.

He had only taken his guard down and moved from blocking the front door when I told him I’d stay and then faked a little fainting spell.

When I asked for water, he’d been too happy to oblige, allowing me to finally slip out the door.

The last thing I saw before closing it was his bewildered expression as he stood frozen in his kitchen with a glass of water in his hand.

I bury the spark of guilt burning my insides.

An hour passes before the influx of people slows enough for Joana to pull me aside. “Seriously, where were you? You look like you’ve been hit by a truck.”

I choke on a laugh. “Well…”

“ What? You can’t be serious.”

“I wasn’t hit. Not technically.”

“What on earth does that even mean?” Isaiah asks from the other end of the counter while finishing an order.

I look at both of them, unsure of what to admit. I don’t want to freak them out. Usually, I keep my accidents to myself, but this time I can’t cover it up that easily.

I blame the concussion, again, for not being able to find a proper lie in time. So I go with the truth. “I… uhm… I almost got run over by a car and Nathan pulled me away just in time.”

“Nathan?” asks Joana while Isaiah nearly passes out from the car portion of my statement. They both have their priorities, I guess.

“I’m fine, don’t worry,” I say, choosing to ignore Joana’s question. Sadly, she doesn’t give up that easily. I pick up a rag to go clean up the tables that have just been vacated and she follows me around the small space.

“Are you wearing his clothes right now?”

I don’t answer.

“So I guess you needed to thank him properly after he saved you, huh?” She wiggles her eyebrows at me as if I didn’t already know what she meant.

Sighing, I gather the used plates and mugs. “Jo, nothing happened.”

“Sure.” She steps in front of me, blocking my way back to the counter. I’m literally backed into a corner of the coffee shop with breakables in my tired hands.

“Nothing happened! I was unconscious, he had to take me somewhere, so he took me to his place. Period.”

“Wait.” Her demeanour changes and I curse. Stupid concussion. “You were unconscious? Why were you unconscious?”

Fuck.

“I… may have bumped my head when he pushed me out of the way.”

“He hurt you?!”

“What? No!” Anger surges at her words. “He saved me from a car breaking me into tiny pieces, and in doing so I lost my balance and fell.”

“So he took an unconscious girl back to his place?” She snorts. “A hospital might have given less creeper vibes, Liv.”

Rolling my eyes, I push her aside and get back to work. This is why I lie about my accidents; people don’t get it. “I asked him not to take me to the hospital. I don’t like them.”

“Sweetie,” says Isaiah, having heard my last comment, “you should go to a hospital. You may have a concussion.”

I wince. “It’s fine. I saw a doctor last night and they told me I’m fine.”

“If you need to rest, we can cover for you.”

I smile, their concern warming my broken heart more than they could ever know.

More than I could ever say. Huh, I need rest; this concussion is throwing everything into a mayhem that I can’t handle.

I don’t let people worry over me; I can’t afford to.

Their assessing stares make me self-conscious, and I’m about to repeat that I’m fine when a deep voice I immediately recognise cuts me off.

“That’s a great idea, actually.”

I turn to see Nathan glaring at me, clearly still angry from my slipping out on him. For crying out loud, I just went to work! What’s up with everyone? My head, my choice.

He is looking incredibly delicious, however, in dark jeans and the same white T-shirt as before. Who wears a T-shirt in October in London?

In the corner of my eyes, I see Joana prowl closer.

“So, you’re the creepy saviour?”

His dark eyes slowly slide from my face to hers. “Excuse me?” The question is lifeless, sending goose bumps throughout my body.

Going home is starting to sound good right about now.

“When someone is hurt, you take them to the hospital, not back to your creepy cave.”

I almost snort. If only she knew what his “creepy cave” is really like. Joana waves her hand at me when I try to shush her and then crosses her arms, awaiting his answer.

I throw a pleading look to Isaiah only to find him wide-eyed and stuck on Nathan. Weird.

“From what I’ve heard, hospitals suck.”

I choke on a laugh, and his face seems to warm a fraction as he looks curiously my way. “All right, Jo, thank you for the overprotective nonsense”—I really mean that; I didn’t know she cared that much—“but I’m all right. And as I said, I asked him not to take me.”

I’m never sharing anything ever again. I push her to the counter to serve the other customers, but she throws a dark look at Nathan, moving two fingers between her eyes and his in an “I’m watching you” vibe. Ugh.

When I look back at Nathan, I find him observing my colleagues, his head slightly cocked to the side. “They care about you.” It’s not a question, but I nod anyway, still slightly surprised at that fact myself. “Good.”

A hand appears at my side, Isaiah’s. His eyes are still locked on Nathan, clearly puzzled by something.

Nathan looks at the hand extended his way for so long that I worry he’s about to embarrass my colleague. When he finally shakes it, Isaiah’s gaze widens slightly.

“Thank you, for taking care of Liv.” He swallows hard. “She rarely lets anyone do so.”

Surprise lights up Nathan’s handsome face, a warm smile now stretching his full lips. “It’s nothing.”

I’m stuck between the two men, my mind completely blank. This situation is so weird.

“Oh no, it’s something,” insists Isaiah, “and I have a favour to ask of you if it’s not too much trouble. Would you take Liv home?”

“What?!” I turn so fast I have to ignore the painful spark in my head before anyone overreacts again. Though from the tightening of Nathan’s lips, my wince didn’t go unnoticed. Great.

Isaiah turns to me. “You will go home, and you will rest, young lady, because I’m pretty sure you’re lying to us and yourself, saying you’re fine.”

“I am fine. And it’s none of your business either way. You don’t get to order me around, old man.”

Far from being deterred by my words, he chuckles as he takes his phone out of his apron pocket. I can’t see what he’s doing on it but dread curls in my stomach. “Nathan, what did the doctor say last night? Or was there even a doctor?”

The man looks between the two of us, uncertainty plain on his face. “That she needs to rest, eat and drink—”

“See, I rested. I’m good to go.” I try to interrupt him, but Nathan keeps going despite it.

“—lots of fluids to help with the concussion.”

“Concussion?!” Joana shrieks from where she’s taking an order. The clients around us stare at me with wide eyes.

Before I can argue any more, Isaiah turns his phone to me, and my retort gets stuck in my throat. “You wouldn’t!”

“You’re going home now, or I’m calling her.”

“Are you threatening her?” Nathan steps closer to me, his voice suddenly icy.

Isaiah stumbles slightly. “No! Our—our boss would throw a hissy fit if she knew Liv was working in her condition.” Turning to me while throwing worried glances at the stranger who has suddenly become way too concerned with my well-being, he insists, “Go home. We have everything under control.”

I sigh. Mia would throw a fit. She owns this coffee shop along with a few other businesses in London.

She’s a bit rough around the edges but she cares deeply for her employees.

Since I’ve been here longer than most, we’ve grown to have a strange relationship where she drops by once in a while to make sure I’m okay and comments on the way I live my life.

She’s kind of a surrogate grandmother, if grandmothers were terrifying businesswomen.

“Fine.” I surrender. Isaiah’s relief is enough to make me feel bad for fighting them in the first place.

But what am I gonna do back home? Normally I would curl up with a book, but today especially, I don’t want to be alone.

“But I’ll take the Tube—I’ve been enough trouble.

” I glance at Nathan, who’s frowning at me.

“No, I’ll take you.”

“Do you have a car?”

He frowns harder, as if needing to think this over. “No.”

“How did you come here?”

“The… Tube.”

Seriously? He lives in a penthouse; I didn’t think people with that kind of money took the Tube.

I notice that Isaiah had left when he comes back with a bag full of croissants and muffins that he hands to Nathan.

“Take a cab, and see her to her door,” says my increasingly overbearing co-worker, ignoring my wrathful gaze. “Please,” he adds suddenly, with a frown on his wrinkled face.

I open my mouth to reject the idea, but Nathan instantly agrees and turns expectantly to me.

I throw my hands up and go to get my things from the back room.

I’m too tired and my head hurts too much to argue further.

It’s fine. I’ll order some pizza, watch some horror movie or something.

Who cares that twenty years ago today my life went up in flames when my body refused to give up and die, like it should have. Like my adoptive parents did.