The bedroom door clicked shut behind us.
The sounds from downstairs immediately softened, replaced by the steady rhythm of rain against the window overlooking Main Street.
For a moment…
Neither of us spoke.
The room suddenly felt much smaller than it had the night before.
Not because of the walls.
Because it was just the two of us.
Reaper set my overnight bag beside the dresser before rolling the sleeves of his black henley shirt toward his elbows.
The movement tugged at the white bandage wrapped around his forearm.
A small stain of crimson had already seeped through the gauze.
I frowned.
“Sit.”
He looked at me.
“I thought you were tired.”
“I am.”
“Then you should be in bed.”
“And you should stop bleeding.”
One dark eyebrow lifted.
“I’ve survived worse.”
“So I’ve heard.”
