Blind Warrior (The Weavers Circle 3)

“No.”

“I have to see you. I can’t leave until I know that you’re physically okay.” Cort’s voice hardened through the door. There had been little hints of stubbornness when he and Cort had worked together over the past few days, and there was no doubt Cort had no intention of going anywhere.

“I’m fine. You’re talking to me, right? You can hear that I’m still alive.”

“That’s not enough. You gonna open the door?”

Grey bit his tongue to keep from answering.

“I don’t wanna make this ugly, Grey, but I will do it so that I know you’re okay.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Grey snapped, his heart quickening for a new reason.

“I will get in there today. Do you understand me? Your welfare is in my hands, and I take that damn seriously. If I have to, I will tell your family. They’ll either supply me with a key or they’ll break this door down.”

Grey clenched his hands into fists and shoved to his feet, knocking his chair to the floor with a loud bang. He shuffled the short distance to the door carefully so that his forehead was pressed to the smooth, cool surface. “You wouldn’t dare. Try it and I will fire your ass so fast.”

Cort laughed. He actually fucking laughed at Grey. “Do you think you’re the first client to threaten me with that? Go ahead, but I’m still getting in there. My conscience will be clear because I will have done what I needed to make sure you’re alive and safe.”

“Fuck you and your conscience! I can’t do this today, okay? Just go away.” Grey cringed at the shaking in his voice, knowing Cort had heard it as well.

There was a long silence that stretched. Grey leaned on the door, listening to his own ragged breathing and heartbeat as it slowed from its sprint. He couldn’t hear Cort clomping down the stairs or even moving away from the door. The man had to be just standing there. Was he on the phone, calling one of his friends to come open the door?

“Grey, I get that some kind of shit happened last night. Clay watched me pull into the driveway, and I’ve never seen such a frown on that man. Baer and Dane met me at the garage and gave me what sounded like a friendly third degree.”

“I’m sorry. They shouldn’t have…” Grey murmured, not sure if Cort could even hear him.

“It’s okay. I get they were only looking out for you and your safety. Dane also said that you refused to go to breakfast.”

“I just couldn’t this morning.”

There was a soft scrape along the door. A kind of sliding sound and for a moment, Grey imagined Cort placing his palm on the door. Grey unclenched one of his hands and pressed it to the door. Why did Cort make things feel manageable when deep down he knew they weren’t?

“Please, open the door. No session today. No lectures. Let me just see you so I can sleep tonight. And then if you want another specialist to work with you, I’ll arrange it. No questions asked.” Cort’s voice was soft and pleading, but it wasn’t just the tone that made Grey ache inside. It was the idea that Cort wouldn’t show up tomorrow.

Sighing heavily, Grey slid his hand across the door, moving it toward the doorknob. It took a couple of swipes, but his fingers finally stumbled across the deadbolt. He twisted it and carefully stepped backward.

He struggled to keep his breathing normal as he listened to the door open and then the soft click of the light being turned on, even though his darkness never changed. Beyond that, the silence stretched uncomfortably. Cort’s breathing had hitched a little, likely when he spotted the mess he’d made in the living room, but he still didn’t speak, didn’t berate Grey.

Finally, Cort touched him. His hand gently wrapped around Grey’s and he relaxed just a bit. Cort squeezed and Grey sucked in a ragged breath against the swirling emotions trying to break free.

“It’s good to see you, Grey,” Cort said. Grey could only manage a jerky nod as a lump formed in his throat. “How about you sit at the table for a few minutes?” Cort never released his hand, but Grey could hear him moving around, setting the chair up on all four legs. Cort guided Grey into the chair. “That looks like a new bandage on your knee, and you’ve got a couple of scrapes on your palm. Would you mind if I check them out?”

Grey shook his head. He didn’t feel capable of words. Didn’t want to start talking yet because he was afraid of what was going to come out of his mouth. Cort squeezed his hand again. Releasing it, he moved away. But instead of heading to the bathroom for the first aid supplies, he crossed the kitchen. Cabinet doors opened and closed. Then the refrigerator door opening and closing.