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“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I shouldn’t have gotten so worked up back there. I just...I don’t know what’s going on.”
I nod, not sure what to say. Cove thinks there’s something going on too. He didn’t just wipe out. I’m just as confused and scared as he is.
It was so weird, but for a moment out there, it felt like the water was closing in on us, like it was alive and trying to drown us. I could feel the magic. The professor was right – it’s real. And it’s dangerous.
* * *
I’m bone-tired by the time we head back to the house. Cove and Bhodi both look completely washed out too. I think we all overdid it today.
“Leave your board outside with mine and I’ll clean them both off while you shower,” Cove tells me.
“Thanks. But Bhodi can shower first.”
“I won’t say no to that, unless you want to shower with me, little dot. We could conserve water.”
I laugh when he wiggles his eyebrows at me. “That’s not a good idea.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re still healing,” I insist.
“Exactly. I need someone to nurse me back to health.”
“Then maybe you should take your medication!”
“You’re such a grass,” he snipes at Cove, before turning back to me. “I feel faint. Maybe you should chaperone me while I shower.”
I laugh but shake my head. “You’re incorrigible.”
“My dick’s incorrigible.”
“Enough. Go shower.”
I’m still laughing as I push open the front door and step inside. Rounding the corner to the kitchen, I halt, the laughter dying on my lips.
“You’re back!” I exclaim, rushing forward and throwing my arms around the professor. He stiffens under my touch and I step back, frowning. “What—?”
He winces, unable to hide the grimace of pain on his face.
“You’re hurt?”
“I’m fine, Miss Van der Zee—”
“Bullshit!” I snap, frustration and relief and fear warring inside me and coming out all wrong. “Look at you.”
“What about me?”
“You’re hurt. I can tell,” I insist.
“There’s not a mark on me, so I don’t see how you could tell.” He folds his arms over his chest in challenge.
“It’s the way you’re holding yourself.”
He raises a brow at me, a slight smirk tugging on his lips. He’s mocking me, even though I knew the moment we met that he was left-handed from the way he tied his shoelaces, he doesn’t believe that I can read him. “And how’s that?”
“Stiff. Your movements are tentative. Hesitant. You stiffened when I touched you and your eyes are full of pain,” I reply with confidence, meeting his gaze unflinchingly.
“Maybe I stiffened because I don’t want to be touched by you.”
