Something about Ruby’s expression seems off. She’s hiding her face while she talks.

“Is she sleeping?” Murph asks.

“Yes.” Ruby walks out of the kitchen in a rush and heads toward the laundry room like the clothes are a sudden emergency. Murph and I stare at each other with skepticism.

“You hungry?” I ask as I pull the lasagna out of the oven. There are two clear empty spots where Ruby and Hazel must have removed their portions.

“Not really,” he answers.

“Me neither.”

He’s standing in the doorway, watching the hallway toward Hazel’s room as if he’s waiting for her to emerge. Hazel hasn’t been walking much lately, and when she does, it’s with Ruby or Murph’s help.

Not having her around to talk to makes me feel restless and frankly, quite useless. There’s a buzzing under my skin like I want to itch something or scream or just do anything really. I watch Murph, and for a moment I feel bad. He’s so clearly hurting over this, and even though I should despise him for threatening to ruin everything for me, I can’t seem to find the energy to hate him.

Or maybe it is hatred, and I’d rather do other things than argue with him and spend this passion differently.

His eyes stare ahead without focusing. I should ask if he’s okay or if he wants to go see her, but he looks as if he might shatter if I bring it up.

Instead I start to head out of the kitchen, but his large frame takes up most of the entrance so when I move to pass him, our bodies brush up against each other. He almost lets me pass, but on second thought, he juts out his knee and stops me, pinning my body to the door frame.

“Where are you going?” he asks in a low tone without meeting my gaze.

“My room,” I answer quickly. He has me unwound and just not myself. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“What have I told you? Your business is my business now. As long as you're in this house and a part of her life, you’re a part of mine.” He’s less playful now, and almost...miserable.

I gulp, feeling like my body is on fire with the way he’s staring at my neck. I push his chest away, trying to squeeze past, but the more I push him, the harder he pushes back until his hips have mine pinned and his warm breath is on my face, and I’m breathing him in.

Rolling my body toward him, I send him a glare that is quite clearly a dare. He won’t do anything about it, my eyes say. He won’t carry me to his bedroom and do what I know he wants to do so badly.

He answers my dare with a growl and his hands are on my hips. “You’re too feisty for your own good,” he says, his words clipped and breathless.

“Admit it, I scare you,” I answer, pushing myself against the now rigid form against my belly.