Chapter 37

It has a fluffy gray duvet on the queen bed, yet this room feels cold for some reason. I can’t place why I feel that way. I would rather have the hospital room. It feels empty despite having clothes, even as I walk into the grand bathroom and closet.

Walking out, Axton is leaning against the doorframe, watching me. “My room is across the hall. You are to remain in the apartment unless I authorize you to leave it. Guards will be posted outside the doors until you can be trusted.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Axton,” I tell him.

But he either doesn’t care for my words or doesn’t believe me because he walks off, leaving me in the room.

I sit on the bed, looking around the empty space. Goosebumps lace my skin, and I itch badly, something setting off my senses about Axton’s cold demeanor. It must be our broken bond, but I find myself waiting for the other shoe to drop, to wake up back in the apartment with Jake. It isn’t until the incessant hunger that has been pestering me since I woke up that I decide to move to look for something to eat. It is also the startling clarity I need, proof I am really here, because the growling starts to turn to an ache, and I find myself wandering to the door. I stop, listening for any movement before wandering down the hall to the kitchen.

Am I allowed to just help myself? I don’t know the rules here. Axton said nothing; he just showed me my room and walked off.

“Well, he can’t expect us to starve,” Lexa tells me.

Yet why do I feel so unwelcome here? Like I am intruding, and the feeling won’t leave; I want to go back to my room very much. Instead, Lexa urges me toward the fridge, reminding me I need to eat, that the two moving babies inside me require food just as much as I do.

“Maybe we can make him dinner to say thank you,” she says, yet her voice still holds no emotion as if she is saying what is expected of us and not for any real reason, just her words purely existing like an idea in my head, an inner monologue of the turmoil I feel.

“What should we make for him?” I do not know what he likes. I hardly know anything about the man at all besides what the tabloids say.

“It’s the thought that counts, right?” she says indifferently, so I move toward the fridge and pantry. It is getting late, and judging by the time on the clock, it is definitely nearing dinner time. So, I set to work, rummaging through the well-stocked fridge and pantry.

I find tomahawk prime rib steaks, asparagus, and potatoes. I marinate the steaks in red wine with salt, garlic, liquid smoke, sugar, and pepper, setting it to the side. I take the large potatoes and place them on the baking rack. While they are half cooked, I split them in half, scooping them out and combining them with cheddar cheese, crumbled bacon, chives, and butter.

I place the twice-baked potatoes back in the oven and set the asparagus aside with butter on the warmer. I place the tomahawk steaks in the top oven to broil for thirty minutes. After everything is finished, I place the food on a large plate for Axton and some for myself. Hopefully, he will be back soon for dinner.

“He should like this. It’s slightly fancy, but not over the top,” I say to Lexa as I wait for Axton.

Lexa chimes in seconds later. “I hope he does. It’s all we can do to show we appreciate everything he did to save us.”

We wait for a while, and dinner is going cold. I wonder when he will be back and am about to consider reheating everything when the door finally opens. His scent wafts to me, and I am starving, but I know it would be rude not to wait for him. Besides, I am hoping to speak to him, have some form of conversation, so I perk up when I hear the door open and close.

“I cooked dinner,” I blurt out as he wanders into the room where I sit at the dining table. He raises an eyebrow at me and glances at the table.

“Good for you,” he says, moving toward the fridge. He grabs a can of coke before wandering down the hallway, and moments later, I hear his door close.

I stare down at my almost cold dinner and wait a second to see if he returns, but he doesn’t.

“Well, I guess that went well,” Lexa says as I stare at the table I have painstakingly sat at for the past twenty minutes, waiting for him. Not to mention the time it took me to cook all this, yet now I find I have suddenly lost my appetite. Tears burn the backs of my eyes, and I squeeze them tight. Is this how it will be staying here? Composing myself, I grab my fork, digging in and eating almost robotically. I was excited about having cooked for him, and yet I taste nothing as I eat in the quiet, forcing myself to eat the meal I spent ages making for him.

When I’m done, I clean up, cling-wrapping his dinner and setting it in the microwave before wandering back to my room, which is just as empty as when I’d left it. With nothing else to do, I climb into bed.

“I suppose we can try again tomorrow. Maybe he had a rough day?” Lexa tells me, trying to cheer me up, yet I know she doesn’t believe that herself.