“I just wanted to check on you,” I whisper, stepping into the room and shutting the door behind me. My heart won’t stop hammering in my chest.

“I’m fine,” he lies. He’s watching me from the chair, his legs spread and his arms draped across the arms of the chair. Even his posture is intimidating.

I keep waiting for him to get up, flirt a little, say something vulgar like he did at the sink, but he doesn’t. He’s not the same guy who had me pressed up between him and the wall.

“Why morning glories?” His deep whisper stops me from turning to leave the room. The question catches me off guard, and it takes me a minute to realize he’s talking about the tattoo I want.

I clear my throat and step in a little farther. “That scar was the last bad thing to happen to me before everything started going good, before she took me in. It’s her favorite flower—”

“I know it is,” he says, interrupting me.

Fidgeting in my spot against the footboard of his bed, I keep waiting for him to make a move.

“Do you have siblings?” he asks.

“No.”

“Neither do I.”

“But I thought…”

“Who, Ryder? He’s not my brother. He’s just a piece-of-shit pretty boy who fucked over the only person I cared about. We’re not related.”

“I’m sorry,” I mumble with my fingers against my lips.

It’s quiet for a moment before he finally stands up and walks toward me. He stops when he’s standing next to me, and I keep waiting for him to touch me, feeling like I might crawl out of my skin. Finally, he reaches forward and grabs the doorknob behind me.

“Thanks for checking on me.” Then he holds open the door for me, and my heart is fucking raw when I look at his face in the dim light. He’s tortured. In pain.

“Anytime you need to talk, I’m right across the hall.”

He nods at me, his eyes meeting mine for the first time.

When his light goes out under the door, I tip-toe away. This dark room version of Murph has me feeling shaken. Part of me wants to walk back in, find that mischievous smile I know he’s hiding.

Instead, I walk quietly to the office to finish filing away the extra paperwork Hazel had pulled out for me a few weeks ago. It was piles of old tax returns and investment documents from almost a decade ago. She wanted someone besides her accountant to have access to it...just in case. It sounded like real old-lady paranoia to me, but I didn’t complain. It was very boring work, but I’d been hacking away the progress bit by bit. I hadn’t touched the room since Murph came back, not wanting him to get all suspicious about what I’m doing in there.

My eyes drift back to the papers on the desk, and I realize they must be Murph’s. They’re the same initiative documents that they spoke about a few days ago.