I wave at the man as I head up the walk to the front door, swallowing as a strange, nervous energy fills me up. Being near Lakyn Meyer makes me feel so many things I’m not used to feeling, and I have no idea how to process them. All I know is that I need to be here, with him.
I’m meant to be here.
I take a deep breath and ring the doorbell before adjusting the straps of my backpack and shifting my weight to my good leg. When I don’t hear anything, I try to finger comb my hair, quickly straighten my shirt, then knock.
This time I heard a voice inside, a male voice, and I’m pretty sure it was Lakyn’s, but it was too far away to make out. Just as I’m preparing to knock again, the door opens, and Ichabod’s expression shifts from annoyed to surprised before his eyes wander past me.
“What are you doing here?” he finally asks when his gaze returns to mine.
“I came back.”
“I can see that. Why did you come back here?” Ichabod sounds sincerely confused, his brows pulling together slightly, and I hate that I can’t see into the house to tell if Lakyn is home.
“Everything okay?” The man in the truck calls out through his open window and I turn to wave at him.
“Just fine! Thank you again!” I shout back before turning to Ichabod and lowering my voice. “Just let me in so he’ll go away. Please.”
“Fuck. Fine,” Ichabod grumbles, stepping back and holding the door open as he gestures inside with an exasperated sigh.
“Thanks,” I mumble and catch him waving to the man who gave me the ride as I move inside. The door shuts behind me and that tingly feeling has my skin humming and my teeth buzzing. I take a step toward the living room, hoping to see Lakyn, needing to see him, but my fucking leg chooses that moment to give out and I end up barely catching myself against a small table covered in mail.
“Shit, are you okay?” Ichabod wraps a surprisingly firm grip around my arm, and I’m so tempted to shake him off because I want to face Lakyn standing upright, strong, but I don’t know if I can actually manage that right now.
“I’ll be fine. Is Lakyn here?” I ask, glancing at Ichabod. All of the surprise and concern melts away and he suddenly looks incredibly serious, almost sad, but the expression fades when he adjusts his hold on my arm and helps me stand up straight.
“Yeah,” he answers curtly. “He’s here, but you’re definitely not fine.” Ichabod mutters a few curses under his breath and leads me into the living room—which is disappointingly empty. I can smell cigarette smoke on the air and I’m pretty sure Ichabod doesn’t smoke. At least, I didn’t see him smoke during the short time I was here last, but he said Lakyn is here and I don’t think he’d lie about that. He stops me by the couch and nudges me toward it. “Sit down, Daphne.”
“Wait.” I try to push backward, fighting his grip. “I want to see Lakyn first.”
“You need to sit down so I can look at your leg.”
“It’s fine, can you just— fuck!” My leg buckles completely, a vicious spike of pain making my head pound and my stomach churn, and it’s only Ichabod’s fierce hold on my arm and a sharp shove that gets me on the couch instead of the floor.
But if he hadn’t hit my goddamn thigh, it wouldn’t have happened at all.
Hissing air through my teeth, I glare up at him and snarl, “What the fuck!”
“See? You’re not fine,” Ichabod replies, deadpan and completely unconcerned as he points at me. “Stay here. Don’t touch anything. I’ll get the first aid stuff.”
“But I want—”
“To see Lakyn. I know.” Rolling his eyes, Ichabod steps back and crosses his arms, then he just stares. Right at me, with his jaw twitching from how hard he has it clenched.
For a second I’m worried he’s going to toss me out in a fit of jealousy, but if he thinks I’ll let him do that before I see Lakyn, he’s fucking delusional. However, threatening him won’t help me right now, especially since Ichabod seems to be blurring at the edges in a way that’s definitely not natural. Plus, you catch more flies with honey, and all that bullshit. Taking a breath, I try to look meek, sad, and not in pain. “Please, Ichabod?”
“Goddammit.” Huffing, he gestures down the hall. “He’s sleeping right now and waking him up would be a really fucking bad idea for both of us. So, why don’t you just let me look at that leg and we can both wait for him to get up in his own time.”
“Okay,” I relent and force a small smile. Just be polite. “Thank you.”
“Sure,” he mumbles before heading out of the living room.
I listen to the quiet of the house for a minute, straining my ears to see if I can catch a hint of Lakyn’s voice… but there’s nothing. Just the distant sound of a cabinet shutting from down the hall. Shifting on the couch, I take off my backpack and set it beside me, reaching in to make sure one of my knives is just inside the opening.
Ichabod might be sincere about helping with my leg, but there’s no way he’s forgotten that I’m competition. He heard Lakyn ask me to be a part of his family, he knows that I already killed Willa to stay, and there’s always a chance he’ll try to take me out before Lakyn wakes up.
“You’ve got a fever, Daphne,” Ichabod insists, but I just roll my eyes as he continues wrapping gauze around the cut.
It looks a lot worse than the last time I paid attention to it. I’ve been keeping it wrapped up, trying to keep it clean, or at least the assholes at Camp Desert Kumbaya have, but it doesn’t seem to be helping. The cut is wider than it used to be, and the skin around it is swollen and bright red. The actual cut is the problem though, and the sight of it is what flipped Ichabod from irritated and annoyed to freaking out as soon as I rolled the yoga pants down.
I think he’s overreacting, but I do have to admit it looks bad. It’s oozing and doesn’t seem to be healing even though it’s been about two weeks since Aftyn took the cheap shot at me. Of course, it probably looks even redder than usual because Ichabod has been fucking around with it for what feels like hours, which is making me feel ten times worse than I did when I walked in.
“Take these,” Ichabod says in a gruff voice, tossing a bottle of pills into my lap, and I turn them over to see they’re pain relievers.
“It doesn’t hurt that much. I’ll be fine.”
“Just fucking take them,” he snaps, taping off the gauze as he grits his teeth again.
“Why?” I ask, opening the bottle to look at the pills. I’m not sure what this brand of pain reliever is supposed to look like, but I’m not just taking random fucking pills from someone who has a good reason to see me dead.
“Jesus Christ, Daphne. If I had a thermometer here, I’d be able to prove that you have a fever, probably a pretty serious one, but for now you just need to listen to me.” Ichabod scrubs at his face before he looks up at me again from where he’s sitting on the floor. “I did my best to clean that up, but it’s a mess. I’d tell you to go to a fucking hospital, but—”
“No way,” I interrupt, and he groans, leaning back on his hands to stare at me.