Junie snorts beside me. “Not subtle, huh?”

I glance at her. “They’re a thing?”

“Used to be, but Tabatha has a hard time letting go.”

“I see that.” I watch as they pull apart. Her hands roam over his chest. “He doesn’t seem to mind, though.” His hands move to her shoulders, but he hardly shoves her away.

“He’s just trying not to embarrass her. Caden is respectful that way.”

I study Junie thoughtfully, noting the way her eyes follow Caden. I release a small puff of breath. Part sigh. Part laugh. She’s infatuated with him, too. Shaking my head, I glance heavenward. I guess most girls with a pulse would be. Especially here with such slim pickings. He’s good-looking. Confident. That goes a long way.

“C’mon. Let’s get you back to our room.” Junie takes my elbow.

“I can make it on my own.”

Nodding, she lets go of my arm, but she’s quieter than normal, and I know she’s still thinking about Tabatha laying that kiss on Caden. I’m also thinking about it a little too much, wondering if he really doesn’t reciprocate Tabatha’s feelings. It’s hard to imagine. Especially when she looks the way she does. Didn’t I just note that good looks and confidence go a long way? The girl is hot, and she doesn’t even have to try.

Once in the room, I sink onto the edge of the bed, watching Junie drag a small laundry basket out and start folding the clothes. She works in silence.

“Need some help?” Because really, what else do I have to do?

She arches a dark eyebrow. “You ever fold laundry?”

“What? Do I look like someone who never folded laundry before?” Forget the fact that I rarely did. My family had a housekeeper. I didn’t have time for laundry amid all my activities. I was busy with voice lessons, orchestra rehearsals, school. And Zac. So much of my time had been devoted to Zac and my friends. Mom never made chores a priority for me, because all those other things that were so important to me were equally important to her. I wince. Caden was right. I was a bit of a princess. I know that now. I’m not sorry to see that part of me gone. The pampered, deluded, naive girl needed a reality check. Maybe that was the one good thing to come out of this.

“Knock yourself out.” She grins at me as I start to fold and do a less-than-spectacular job.

“It’s my shoulder,” I say defensively. “I’m not at full function.”

“Then I’d love to see you at full function.”

“Why?”

“’Cause you’re kind of a badass.” And I realize she’s not talking about laundry anymore. A lump rises in my throat, because it’s not something I want to think about. Killing never is. I’d avoided the subject of Hoyt with her this long. “You killed Hoyt when you were still laid up from a gunshot wound.”

I inhale through my nose, her words confirming my fear. Here, that’s all I’ll ever be known for—killing Hoyt. Staying here—not that I’m contemplating it—seems like even less of an option now. “Are people mad at me for that?”

She shrugs. “No one particularly cared for him. He was really quiet, you know. Always watching the girls.” She shivers a little. “Everyone tolerated him because of Marcus.”

I nod.

“But people are definitely talking about it. About you. He wasn’t some weak-ass guy, and you took him out.” She waggles her eyebrows. “You’re a regular mystery.”

“Not really.”

“Hey, roll with it. I wish I had an aura of mystery. Might get certain guys to notice me.”

And by certain guys I’m guessing she means Caden. Clearing my throat, I set a poorly folded pair of pants on top of the pile. “Where could I find Caden right now? I’d like to discuss when he thinks I might be ready to leave.”

She considers me, her gaze skimming my shoulder as if she can see through my shirt and the bandage to the wound underneath. “That shoulder needs to heal up more, don’t you think?”

“I’ll be fine.”

Shaking her head, she takes my pile of clothing from me and starts refolding. “He’s three doors down on the right.”

“Thanks.” I stand, readjusting my sling.

I do a quick scan when I enter the hall, and I’m relieved it’s empty. Especially knowing that everyone is talking about me. At the third door, I knock.

A muffled “Come in” drifts through the panel. I turn the latch and push the door open. As I step inside, my face instantly flames. I spin away from the sight of Caden, shirtless, finishing doing up the snap on his pants. It’s the first glimpse of the firm chest I’d felt more than once beneath his shirt, and the image burns an imprint on my corneas. He isn’t heavily muscled. But there isn’t an ounce of fat on him, either. He is lean, his tanned skin tight over a well-defined abdomen and smooth, flat pecs.

“Oh, sorry—”

“It’s okay. I’m decent.”

Decent. I almost laugh at the double meaning there. It’s funny in a sad kind of way, because he’s a carrier. And ironic, too, because, so far, he might truly be just that. Decent. As much as I struggle to refute it, he presents a strong case for the possibility of being both a carrier and a decent human being.

“You can turn around.”

His voice hums deeply on the air and makes me tremble. Hero fixation. I tell myself it’s just that. He saved my life. I’ve lost Sean. I’m needy. Vulnerable. And he is easy on the eyes.