Page 52 of Shattered By the Currents

Using the towel, she wiped the mirror. God, she barely even recognized herself anymore. Her wet blonde locks were the same. But her eyes…they were red and swollen. Eyes that hadn’t quite felt her own in a long time.

Swallowing, she quickly dried before pulling on a sleep shirt.

In the hall, she hurried to her bedroom. The door closed with a thud, and she leaned her temple against it, glad she hadn’t run into Connor.

When she turned, a plate of food sat on the bedside table.

Of course he’d made her food. Because he was a good guy. And good guys made sure people staying in their home ate, even if they were angry.

She sat beside the bed and tried to have some of the soup. It was good. Really good. But two spoons in and she couldn’t stomach any more. She couldn’t even touch the toast.

It was probably too early to sleep. Still, she turned off the lights and crawled between the sheets anyway.

Then she just lay there.

One hour passed. Then another.

Minutes ran into each other, and in those minutes, she tossed and turned, rolling from one side to the other.

Sleep wasn’t coming. Great.

She tapped the screen of her phone.

One a.m. So, basically, the middle of the night.

She shoved off the sheets and climbed out of bed. Before leaving the room, she grabbed the almost full bowl of soup with the untouched toast and took them with her into the hall.

At the bottom of the stairs, she turned toward the kitchen. Her gaze was down, and when she stepped into the kitchen, she almost walked straight into a large, looming figure. One gasp, and soup splattered all over his crisp white shirt.

Connor filled a glass with water.He couldn’t sleep. It was the middle of the damn night, and he hadn’t gotten a single fucking minute of rest.

He downed the entire glass before setting it in the sink. He hated how things had ended with Raven. He’d wanted to talk to her before going to bed, but she’d been in the shower when he’d taken her dinner, then she hadn’t left her room.

He was a dick. Yes, he needed to know what she was hiding, for her safety and his heart, but it was her choice if and when she told him.

He scrubbed his hands over his face.

Maybe TV would help. Some mind-numbing documentary that would put him to sleep.

He was just straightening when he heard it—soft footsteps on the stairs.

He headed out of the kitchen. Raven’s head was down though, and by the time she looked up, she jumped so violently the bowl surged forward, flinging soup on his shirt.

She gasped. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. Look at you. Oh, Jesus.”

He grabbed the back of his shirt and tugged it over his head before moving into the laundry room and dropping it into the sink.

When he returned, Raven was still standing in exactly the same place. He took the bowl from her fingers. “You didn’t like it?”

“I wasn’t hungry.” Her soft voice weaved itself beneath his skin.

“Not tired either?”

“No. I couldn’t sleep. But looks like I wasn’t the only one.”