Page 158 of Stanton Unconditional

“Is Joshua ok?”

“He’s fine.”

“Is the guy he fought alright?” I close my eyes as I wait for the answer.

“Yeah, I just went and checked on him, he just hit the ground hard and knocked himself out. He will be ok.”

“Can I speak to Joshua?”

“He’s in the shower. I will drop him at your house on our way home.”

Hmm. “Okay, see you then.” I hang up, dry-retch again and get into a scalding hot shower, the only place lately where I seem to be calm.

Two hours later, I am sitting on my lounge drinking tea while trying my hardest not to get fuming mad. Where are they? Have they gone out? The key turns in my door and Joshua walks in, his arm in a sling. Cameron is behind him.

I glare at him while biting my tongue. Don’t say it, don’t say it.

Don’t fucking say it.

“You’re an idiot,” I blurt out. Shit, I said it.

“Hello,” he says deadpan as he walks into the kitchen and throws his keys onto the kitchen counter.

Cameron silently shakes his head at me to signify silence. I roll my eyes. This is the testosterone bullshit again.

I stand in an outrage. “What have you done to your arm?

You need to go to the hospital.”

He opens a beer and takes a swing.

I roll my eyes. “Cameron, what is wrong with his arm?”

“He will be fine in the morning. I will leave you two lovebirds to it.” He raises his eyebrows at me and smiles cheekily in jest at me being stuck with him. He slaps Joshua on the back as he leaves the apartment.

“I’m going to bed,” I sigh. He nods. “See you in there.”

I lie in bed as I hear him fuss around in the kitchen and make toast and tea, seemingly unaffected.

I am so tired I feel like I actually had the fight tonight, this man and this life with him is messing with my head and is utterly exhausting.

The sound of pills getting popped from their packets greets me when I hop out of the shower in the morning and I walk into the kitchen to investigate. I slept like a baby and don’t even remember Joshua coming to bed last night. My eyes cover his body and I gasp in shock. Joshua’s face is a mess, he has a fat lip, a black eye, his ribs are bruised, his hand is the size of a water- melon and he’s taking painkillers. I can’t even be sympathetic; this is beyond ridiculous.

“What are you taking?” I ask.

“Just anti-inflammatories,” he murmurs.

I scowl and head back to my bedroom to get dressed for work. What an idiot.

He follows me and gets back into bed and pulls the covers over himself.

I frown at him as I put my hand on my hip.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Going back to bed, what does it look like?” he murmurs.

Now he wants to stay in bed. “Are you not working today?” I ask.