Page 3

T he locker room is empty as we step inside. I close the door behind us, and Cove sits on one of the benches, elbows on his knees, his hazel eyes watching my movements carefully. It’s almost as if he’s trying to determine whether to let me handle this or not.

I find the first aid kit, then sit on the tiled floor between his legs. I flicker my eyes upward to meet his, and it’s like all breath is sucked out of my lungs. My heart picks up the pace, and I’m almost afraid he can hear it.

My throat tightens, and I don’t know what to make of his intense gaze.

This is the first time I’m noticing the specific shade of his eyes. The brown shade around his pupils has a couple of specks that are yellow, molding beautifully into the green. His jet-black hair, now damp from the sweat, falls over his forehead. Every single imperfection on his face seems like a perfection to me.

The curve of his cupid’s bow, the small beauty mark right beneath his plump, bottom lip. His thick, long eyelashes, his high cheekbones, and his clenched jaw. His breath hits my face, and neither of us makes an attempt to move.

I’m not sure what this is or how to describe it, but I’m lost in his eyes, in him.

I can’t look away.

His mesmerizing beauty has me captivated like no other, and at this moment, I’m at his mercy. He’s not doing anything, but the intensity of his stare, his sleepy, almost dull, dead eyes only provokes the emotion I’ve been doing my best to suppress.

It’s nerve-wrecking the hold he has on me.

He swallows, my eyes immediately darting toward his Adam's apple. Oh, how I want to just bite that spot and leave my teeth mark around it.

“You’re staring, little bunny,’’ he murmurs, the depth and huskiness of his voice sending a wave of thrill, excitement, and rush straight to my chest. His voice is normally deep and chilling, but this? This is something entirely different. The way he speaks is almost intimate, as if it’s meant for my ears only.

But the words are enough to snap me out of my daze. I clear my throat, knowing damn well my cheeks are flushed, the heat of it spreading all over my face. Cove ignores it, and so do I.

“I’ll need to rip your shirt to see the wound clearly,’’ I mutter, busying myself, looking through the first aid kit for something to get his shirt off, reaching for the scissors as soon as I spot them.

“Alright,’’ he agrees.

Carefully, I start from the bottom, moving the scissors carefully around the place where the knife is plunged into his shoulder. There’s a small piece of fabric around it left, though I’ll take it out once I remove the knife.

The shirt is torn open, falling down on the bench behind him, and it takes all willpower not to lick the sweat off his chest. The crazy bitch inside me is doing her best not to ogle him, knowing there’s a much more pressing matter at hand, but a part of me just wants to stare at the piece of art that he is.

Unlike Arlo, whose body is filled with tattoos, Cove only has one. It’s written in a language I don’t understand, right on his ribcage. I’ve seen him without a shirt on multiple occasions, but not once did I ask about the tattoo. It’s something he got tattooed around two years ago, and it feels too personal for me to ask.

Quickly, I put on a pair of blue latex gloves and rise from the floor, his knee between my legs as I reach for the handle of the knife. I glance at him, silently asking for permission to pull it out. His eyes flicker upward to me, no emotion in sight as he gives me a brief nod.

My hand tightens around the handle, and in a swift motion, I pull it out and toss it far aside. Cove’s body tenses, though he doesn’t make even the smallest noise. He remains stoic, and once the knife is out, his body relaxes yet again.

I turn on the flashlight on my phone, inspecting the wound closely. Luckily, it’s not bleeding, and it’s not too wide to need stitches. Not that I would know; I dropped out of nursing school after a semester and a half.

“I’ll clean it first, put on ointment, and then put some bandage on.’’

Cove doesn’t speak, just lets me do my own thing. I use the antiseptic wipes first, carefully cleaning the wound a few times. It should sting at least, but he’s making no expressions to prove that. He’s as stoic as ever, staring into the side of my face as I work on him.

I pop the lid open of the antibiotic ointment and make sure to put a lot of it on it. It doesn’t take long before he’s all bandaged up. With the alcohol wipes, I remove the blood that had dried off on his body, ignoring the tingling sensation that spreads through my body whilst definitely using the opportunity to feel him up.

“Enjoying yourself, little bunny?” He asks, and I could swear that there’s a hint of teasing in his voice, although his face doesn’t change.

“Don’t be ridiculous,’’ I scoff, lying easily. “I’m just trying to remove all the blood.’’

He hums. “This is all your fault, you know.’’

I pause, tossing the alcoholic wipes aside and stepping backward. My brows narrow at the accusation, arms folded in front of my chest.

“What?”

“If you hadn’t screamed my name, I wouldn’t have gotten distracted.’’

My eyes widen slightly, and a snort of disbelief slips from my mouth, my lips parting. It takes me a moment to realize that he’s being completely serious and that he’s accusing me of being the one to blame for him getting the knife in his shoulder.

“No.’’

“Yes.’’

“No,’’ I repeat, slightly raising my voice. “The knife was seen from the sidelines, and the glove protected it from your point of view. My scream caused Arlo to react. If I hadn’t screamed, and Arlo hadn’t stepped up, the knife would’ve been in your throat, not your shoulder, and we wouldn’t be having this conversation because you’d be dead.’’

Cove rolls his eyes and stands up. He’s opening all of the lockers, looking for a shirt to wear. He finds one, Lord knows whose it is, puts it on, and turns to look at me, slowly approaching me as if he’s sizing me up.

He’s easily towering over me. I’m not short, but he’s not small either. He’s easily six feet, five inches tall, and the difference is evident right now. I don’t falter, though. I raise my head upward to meet his gaze, holding it intently with no plans of backing down.

“You think that a measly creature like that man would have taken me down?”

“Yes,’’ I responded almost too quickly. “Not because you’re not good enough, but because you got so self-absorbed that you didn’t see the look in his eyes. He was planning it from the start, Cove.’’

“Oh, yeah?” He leans in closer to the point of only an inch separating our faces. He’s trying to look for something, trying to read me, but I don’t let him. If my parents taught me anything valuable in life — except killing people — it’s how to maintain a perfect poker face. Not a single person has been able to see through it, and I’ll be damned if Cove becomes the first one.

“Yeah,’’ I echo his words, swallowing and trying my best not to pay attention to the proximity. He knows exactly what it’s doing to me, and he’s doing it on purpose to try and see me falter even for a split second.

“And tell me,’’ he chuckles, slowly, his eyes narrowed into slits, “since when is it your job to look out for me, hm?”

I blink, completely caught off guard by the absurd question. It takes me a minute to realize he’s being completely serious and that he’s genuinely curious about it.

“We’re friends,’’ I whisper. “It’s what we’re supposed to do, right? Look out for each other?”

A loud laugh comes from him, rumbling in his chest, his body trembling slightly. Something menacing is in the tone, and he’s definitely not finding this humorous in the slightest. A wide grin spreads across his face, and I think it’s the first time I’m seeing it on him, despite having known him for years.

“Friends, little bunny? No, we’re not friends. You’re Arlo’s younger sister. He’s someone I respect and value greatly, but you? You’re just his annoying little sister that never seems to go away. You’re everywhere, and the only reason I tolerate you is your brother.’’

Oh, that fucking hurts.

Slapping me would’ve hurt less than hearing him say it.

On some level, I already knew this. Without Arlo, the two of us never would’ve met. Whenever we were together, it was because I tagged along with Arlo and Blair. I can count on one hand the number of times we’ve been alone together, and none of them was on purpose. Either Arlo and Blair were late, or they disappeared somewhere off together.

Still, hearing him say it in that stone-cold voice hurts. It hurts more than I’m willing to admit, and I’ll never say it out loud, but at this moment, it makes me want to cry. It’s just proof that whenever people see someone in my family, they see my parents or Arlo. It’s never me.

I’m like a shadow that’s in their way.

“You tolerate me,’’ I repeat, bitterness lacing my tongue. “Why?”

He blinks, confused.

“Because if I say one bad thing about you to Arlo, he’ll kick my ass, that’s why.’’

I hum, ignoring the ache in my chest. It feels like someone’s stabbing a million tiny needles into my heart repeatedly. “Well, then, if I’m such a nuisance, I’ll put you out of your misery and spare you of being in my company any longer.’’

He opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off before he can. I grip his shoulder where the wound is, pressing my fingers into it through the gauze and shirt, the crimson color slowly tarnishing the latex gloves. If he can spot a single emotion on my face, it’s hatred. I’ll never let him see me hurt, so hatred it is. Slowly, I get on my tiptoes, whispering in his ear.

“And the next time you think you’re someone important enough to speak to me like I’m some sort of pest that you cannot get rid of, I’ll put you in your fucking place, Cove. You’re Arlo’s friend, and I’m a kind person, but even my kindness has its limits. Do not ever forget who the fuck you’re talking to. I’m not one of the girls you have flings with; you can’t treat me like I’m below you.’’

I distance myself from him, giving his shoulder one last rough squeeze before removing my hand and brushing past him, leaving the locker room, slamming the door behind him.

The moment I’m out of the basement, I take in a deep breath and let a single tear fall.

It’s half from being hurt by his words, half because I let him get a rise out of me. It’s the most humiliating moment in my life, and it will not happen again. Not because of Cove or any man.

He made his stance clear. I’m not that desperate for his attention to beg him. If he doesn’t want to be in my company, he doesn’t have to be, and he’ll never have the privilege of being again. My hands clench as I walk to my car, determined to never speak to him again.

Or at least that’s what I tell myself, yet the tears don’t stop.

How pathetic of me.