Page 86 of The Understatement of the Year

Bella slid into the driver’s seat and turned around. When she saw us basically cuddling in the backseat, a flash of raw hurt crossed her face. Then, without comment, she passed a cup of coffee and a bakery bag into the backseat. Rikker set the bag in his lap, and took the coffee into his free hand. He kept his other one on my head. The engine fired up, and Bella reversed out of the parking spot.

We rode back to Harkness that way, with me drowsing on Rikker. He had to wake me when the car pulled up in front of Beaumont House. “Let’s go, big man. Time to get you set up inside. Bella, I’ll return the car if you want.”

“I got it,” she said, her voice low. “And then I’ll hit the pharmacy for his meds, too. See you upstairs.”

“Thanks,” I said, my voice thick.

“It’s nothing,” she said.

—Rikker

I followed Graham into the Beaumont House courtyard. He seemed a little unsteady on his feet, and I didn’t want to leave him alone, even though we’d never really walked around together before.

Not once.

For some reason, my mind picked that moment to realize just how fucked up our relationship really was. There were people in the world who would have used the word “perverse” to describe the things that Graham and I did in the bedroom. But they had it backwards. What wasreallyperverse was the way we pretended like we didn’t know each other all the other times.

Graham had to geta head injurybefore he forgot to get pissy about me walking beside him. Fuck my life.

At his entryway door, Graham waved his ID in front of the sensor. I followed him upstairs, and into his room. His eyes were at half-mast.

“What can I get you?” I asked.

He put his hand over his face. “A new head, or a bottle of Johnnie Walker.”

“Okay, what’s third on your list?”

“I need a shower.”

“That you can have.”

Graham carried his towel and his toiletries out into the hallway, and I made myself sit down on his desk chair instead of following him. But sixty seconds later, I heard a crash from the bathroom. With my heart in my throat, I shot out of the room and into the bathroom, all the while picturing Graham prone on the marble tiles. But I found him kneeling there instead, staring down at his shower stuff where it had scattered all over the floor.

“Shit. Are you okay?”

He looked sheepish. “I stumbled a little. It’s nothing.”

Standing over him, I pushed one hand through his soft hair, willing my heart to stop pounding. “Let me pick this stuff up. Come on.” I turned on the shower for him and watched him strip. But he looked steady enough, I guess. So I collected the shampoo and the shaving stuff he’d dropped and handed the caddy into the shower stall.

“Thanks,” he sighed. “I’m okay now.”

I stood there for a second, wondering what to do. “I’ll be in your room,” I said finally. “Don’t be a stranger.”

He gave me a half-hearted chuckle. So I pushed open the bathroom door, and almost collided with Hartley.

“Hey,” he said, his eyes darting to the bathroom door. “Bella texted that you were back. How is he?”

“He’s better,” I said. “He’s not confused anymore, but his head hurts.”

“Okay,” Hartley crossed and uncrossed his arms. “That’s progress, I guess.”

“Sure,” I said, feeling miserable. I was worried about Graham, but I sure as hell wasn’t allowed to say so. “Let’s, uh, give him a minute.”

“Yeah,” Hartley said. “So, listen. I just propped open the entryway for…”

But now there were rapid footsteps coming up the staircase. And when I looked down, it was Graham’s mom who was charging up them. “Johnny Rikker!” she squealed. “I have a bone to pick with you.”

“Uh, what’s that Mrs. G?”