Glumly, I avert my gaze. “I know… and then the world will perish if I’m not around to thwart the prophecy.”
“No,” Carrick barks, and my gaze snaps to his. He’s livid. “Then, I’d have to live with the guilt of not protecting you.”
I hear pain in his voice. It alarms me enough that I raise to my elbows so we can have a conversation while making eye contact. “Carrick… I’m really sorry.”
The anger in his eyes bubbles, but then it starts to wane. Sighing, he gives a helpless shake of his head as he dabs more of the liquid on the hip scrape. “You have got to be more careful. Her being able to throw fireballs like that isn’t something a Dark Fae should be able to do. That was strong magic, and we don’t know what we’re dealing with. Now, more than ever, you have to be cautious since we know this fae has decided to take you out.”
“Because she knows,” I murmur, and Carrick’s head flies back up, eyes wide. “She said she’d heard some interesting things about me, and she knew I could see under her glamour.”
“Fuck,” he mutters, scrubbing his hand through his hair. “Did she say anything about the prophecy or feather?”
I shake my head. “No. Only that she was going to kill me… and not just for being a nitwit sister who is in her way.”
Shaking his head, face flush with both sympathy and determination, he says, “I’m sorry, Finley. But you can’t go anywhere on your own from now on. No telling when she’s going to come after you again.”
I lay back down on the bed, much of that peace and well-being he’d instilled in me drifting away. My eyes pin to the ceiling, afraid I might cry if I look at Carrick. “Where would I go?” My voice is petulant and morose. “One Bean is gone. I have nothing.”
“I’ll rebuild it for you,” Carrick replies softly, and my gaze moves to his. Nodding, he reiterates, “I’ll rebuild as fast as I can, okay?”
“Well, I mean… there’s insurance we’d have to navigate, and—”
“Fuck insurance,” Carrick mutters, putting his attention back to my wounds. “I’ll have the work started immediately. And we’ll pay the employees, so they don’t have to get other jobs. But, even if we could start rebuilding tomorrow, it’s still going to take a few months.”
I stare long and hard. Where had the dismissive, uncaring man gone? The man who I, not but a week ago, thought pretty much couldn’t stand me. The man who only does things if he gets a favor in return.
My eyes narrow. “What do you want in return for rebuilding?” I ask suspiciously.
Carrick’s head doesn’t lift, but he side-eyes me briefly before scoffing. “It’s nothing more than business, Finley. I have money invested in it. The sooner we open back up, the sooner we can be profitable again.”
I don’t argue with him even though I know he’s deflecting. No businessman starts a rebuild without waiting for insurance to pay.
He’s doing it for me.
I settle back onto the pillow, taking a moment to admit this only serves to validate my feelings. Because, somehow, I’ve gone and fallen for the big, immortal jerk… and while he says we could never work out, I know he cares for me, too.
“That should hold you over until the healer gets here,” Carrick says, capping the brown bottle and setting it on the bedside table.
He stands from his perch on the end of the bed and stares down, making me feel completely vulnerable in my bra and panties because he doesn’t act like a gentleman at all. He peruses the entirety of me, and, admittedly, it might just be to make sure he got all the cuts, but he certainly takes his time with it, which causes my skin to flush.
“Why don’t you put on a robe or something?” Carrick suggests as he heads toward the door. “The healer won’t need to see your injuries to fix them.”
“Okay,” I reply, sitting up and swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. When I stand, I have to force myself not to wince or groan from the aches and pains because getting thrown through a glass window is no picnic.
After one last glide of his eyes over me, Carrick moves to the door and quietly slips out.
My first step on my sprained ankle is a doozy, and it throbs wretchedly as I hobble into the adjoining bath, where, for the first time since we got to the condo, I’m able to get a good look at myself in the mirror. I’ve got black soot in patches across my face, a nice big scrape across my cheek, and a shiner starting to really shine. My hair is a mess, and I can see sparkles of glass stuck within the curls. I’ll have to come back later and carefully get it all out.
As Carrick suggests, I wrap myself up in a floor-length robe, but as I’m limping back into the bedroom, my cell phone rings. While it had survived Dark Fae Fallon, the screen is cracked, but I can make out it’s a Seattle number calling. I’m guessing it’s either from the police or the fire department.
It’s barely six AM so I roughen up my voice, slow my words, and try to sound like I’ve just woken up when I answer.
It is indeed a police officer to tell me that One Bean had caught fire, that the fire department almost had the fire out, and it looked like the businesses on either side were spared. I didn’t have to do anything immediately as I didn’t own the building, just rented it, but there would be an investigation, and if they found arson or foul play, they’d let me know.
I think I acted appropriately shocked, even though I wasn’t. However, my grief was genuine because every time I think of my beautiful coffee shop as nothing but a shell of black cinders, my throat closes up and tears threaten to spill. The detective heard it in my voice and extended sympathies a few times before we hung up.
I had called Lisa from the car after Zaid picked Carrick and me up. She was supposed to be the one opening the shop, and I needed her to know what had happened so she could get a phone tree going to the employees. I would need to get out an email soon to assure them that their jobs would remain intact while we rebuild.
In the kitchen, I find Zaid doing what he does best, which is cooking a huge breakfast. Carrick is on an island stool with a cup of coffee in front of him while he scrolls through his phone. He had put on a new shirt, but he’s still sporting black soot on his face and dried blood on his arms and hands.
Zaid hears me come in, glances over his shoulder, and nods to the island. “Sit. I’ll get you some coffee.”
“I can get it myself,” I assure him, touched he cares and a little wowed by this sweetened version of Zaid.
“Sit,” he barks, and I jump slightly. Carrick cuts his eyes to me, an amused smile in place, and nods to the seat beside him. I move that way, trying to minimize my limp. It does no good as Carrick watches me like a hawk, lips pressed flat in dismay that I’m in pain. I’m sure he’s thinking over and over to himself what an idiot I’ve been.
Just as I’ve situated myself and made sure my robe doesn’t gape, Zaid is putting coffee in front of me. “Thank you,” I say, and he grunts back.
A chime goes off on Carrick’s phone, and he informs us what it says. “Lucien is on his way up with the healer.”
“Lucien,” I say in surprise, sitting up a bit straighter. It’s the brother I haven’t met yet.