The rehabilitation therapist was due to arrive at any time, and Grey was not looking forward to the visit. He preferred to be left alone and didn’t want some stranger messing about in his business. He flipped on the light, went to take a step back toward the sofa, and knocked something to the floor. Kneeling, he cursed when his fingers slid across the smooth, cool lid of his laptop.
His latest manuscript was on the thing. Not that he’d been able to work this past week, but he was determined not to lose his livelihood on top of everything else. There were dictation programs he could be using. He’d just have to figure out how to get one of those working for him.
Familiar anger filled him as he set the laptop on the coffee table and made sure its corners weren’t hanging off. Knocking the laptop to the floor didn’t do the machine any favors. He’d have to be more careful.
Standing in the living room, nothing but darkness around him, he worked to picture the room. It was probably a mess of dirty clothes and dirty dishes since he’d been mostly holed up here the past week. Cleaning had never been a high priority, but he’d at least kept up with the dusting and vacuuming prior to his injury. He probably should have at least tried to tidy the place, but he couldn’t bring himself to care that much.
Footsteps pounded on the stairs and someone knocked on the door. Although he’d been expecting it, he still jumped.
“Grey?” Dane called out, his voice slightly muffled. “The therapist is here.”
“Come in, it’s unlocked.”
Dane had lived in the apartment before he’d moved into the main part of the house with Clay, so he knew his way around. Grey heard him leading his visitor through the kitchen to the tiny living room Grey stood in.
“Hi,” a deep voice said as his hand was taken into a handshake. “I’m Cort Newton, your vision specialist. I’ll be working with you on your rehabilitation.”
His hand was warm, strong, and friendly. Was it even possible for a handshake to feel friendly? Just the right amount of pressure without becoming overbearing. Or maybe it was in the voice.
The stranger’s scent came next. Good. Better than he would have expected possible. Like fresh air and this faint, musky cologne or aftershave.
His voice came from a higher place. He was taller than Grey by at least a couple of inches.
This was the first time, other than those at the doctor’s office, that he was facing someone he had no memory of. He had no idea what Cort looked like. It was disconcerting. His brain was trying to plug features together, but it was like grabbing random puzzle pieces from a dozen different puzzles. He wanted to know for sure. All he got was tall, strong, with a pleasantly deep voice. Friendly with a soft, southern accent.
“Grey Ackles,” he said as he shook the man’s hand. He tried to read Cort’s thoughts, concentrating hard, and came up against a brick wall. That was both comforting and alarming—two emotions that didn’t mesh well. Comforting because it was nice not to be overwhelmed with emotions, but alarming because he couldn’t read the man at all.
Someone else moved, and Grey remembered that Dane was still in the room. He’d been totally zeroed in on this new guy and had forgotten. It was kind of surprising. Even though he was largely powerless, he got glimpses here and there still. Stray thoughts. Or in Dane’s case, waves of guilt and worry. His friend was having a hard time with all this. As their healer, Dane took his responsibilities very seriously.
And so far, Grey was his one failure.
So, the guy tended to hover a lot. While Grey loved Dane like a brother, the hovering was grating on his last good nerve.
“You want me to stick around?” Dane offered. “I’ve got some time.”
“I don’t need a babysitter,” Grey snapped, then winced as guilt swamped him.
Dane had been nothing but nice to him, trying over and over to heal his sight. The man had taken on powers when he’d soul-bonded with Clay—the leader of their group of Weavers. Seeing soul mate bonds had been one of Grey’s powers, and now that was gone, too.
“I know you don’t. I’ll just leave you guys to your work.” Dane clasped him on the shoulder before heading out. Dishes clattered first, though. The ones Grey had left in the sink. Shame swamped him. Dane was still taking care of him even though he’d snapped.
The door shut and silence filled the room.
Alone with the therapist, Grey slowly made his way to the small couch and waved his hand toward it, indicating the guy could sit as well. He stared in the direction of the coffee table, feeling awkward having a stranger in his space. “I don’t know what the doctor told you, but this is just a temporary situation for me. I’ll get my sight back.”