Glass Hearts [BL]
Chapter 63: Stop Playing with Fire if You Don’t Want to Get Burned

Chapter 63: Stop Playing with Fire if You Don’t Want to Get Burned

I crossed my arms. "So, have you eaten?"

He blinked up at me. "Uh... yeah. I ordered pizza."

My jaw dropped. "Who literally eats pizza when they’re sick?"

Dominic scowled weakly. "I wanted the garlic knots."

"Oh my God." I rubbed my forehead. "You need soup. And tea. Go back to bed."

"You don’t have to..."

"Bed, Dominic."

"You’re bossy when you’re worried."

He huffed but turned around, coughing into his hoodie sleeve. "Fine. But I’m not drinking any weird herbal crap."

"You’ll drink whatever I give you," I shot back.

He scoffed."Don’t burn my kitchen, Rivera."

I left him there and padded back down the stairs, finally entering the kitchen, and froze.

Holy. Shit.

It was the first time seeing it this close. The kitchen was enormous.

It was like walking onto the set of MasterChef.

Like a set for one of those fancy cooking shows.

There were not one but four massive fridges humming quietly along the far wall. Rows of gleaming steel appliances blinked softly. The kitchen stretched wide enough to host a small wedding.

But the real shocker wasn’t the kitchen...it was the pantry. I pulled open the double doors...and nearly staggered back.

It was packed. Shelves floor-to-ceiling. Rows of spices alphabetized. Glass jars labeled with perfect handwriting. Enough dry goods, pasta, rice, and canned foods to survive a three to five years famine.

There was even a shelf labeled "Emergency Rations."

I muttered under my breath, "If there’s ever a famine, I’m moving in here."

My shoulders sagged a little.

I took a deep breath, rolled up my sleeves, and decided to make the soup my mom always made when we were sick.

Ginger chicken noodle soup.

Warm, soothing, good for sinuses. He’d thank me later.

I filled a big, copper pot halfway with water and set it on the stove.

I stared at the gas cooktop. It seemed a bit advanced.

I turned a knob, the a click-click noise started, followed by a sharp blue jet of flame.

Okay. That was easy.

I dropped the ginger into the water and opened the peppermint tea tin, dunking a bag into a mug to steep while the soup heated.

Then I stood there, wooden spoon clutched in my hand, staring at the pot.

But as the flame whooshed under the pot, my mind drifted.

Back to that video.

Hi, Ash. Remember me? Nice to finally meet you. I’m the one who ended Liam’s story...

Was this about Liam? Or was this about me?

If the killer stabbed Liam so coldly... if he watched him fall... if he really belonged in that same gang with Baldy and Scar-guy... then I’m not just being paranoid.

I’m really not safe.

And neither is Dominic.

Or Alia. Or June. Or Marcus.

Oh god... Mom.

How the hell did he know about me and Dominic’s secret research into Liam’s case?

No one knew we were looking into it. No one.

And if something happens to me... who’s going to take care of Mom? Who’s going to pay her hospital bills?

Who’s going to sit beside her hospital bed and wipe her face with warm towels?

Who’s going to look after Alia, make sure she eats, goes to school, draws her unicorns?

My vision blurred.

What if that guy is watching me right now...

The soup hissed as the water began to boil.

I was so lost, I didn’t even realize my hand had drifted too close to the brass burner knob.

THWACK—SIZZLE!

Pain exploded across my palm as the heat bit into my skin.

"Shit—!"

I yanked my hand back, and almost knocked the pot over.

The wooden spoon dropped on the floor.

Red heat throbbed across my palm. Tears sprang to my eyes as I shook out my hand.

Behind me, the soup simmered gently, garlic and ginger filling the kitchen.

But my heart was pounding so hard it felt like my ribs might crack open.

I forced myself to breathe.

Then turned back to the pot, wiping my eyes with the back of my uninjured hand.

Because even if my world was burning down, I was going to make him soup.

I rinsed my burned palm under cool water until the sting dulled.

The burn on my hand throbbed all the way up my arm as I carried the steaming mug of peppermint tea upstairs. Every step, I kept replaying that video in my head.

Stop playing with fire if you don’t want to get burned.

I did get burned.

Even tho it was just soup.

The words felt like they were carved into my skin, hotter than the stove flames.

Because it wasn’t just an empty threat anymore. I’d been careless, distracted.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that this... this stupid accident, wasn’t an accident at all.

Like somehow, the universe, or fate, or whoever the hell was watching me, had decided to prove a point.

Like I was already paying the price for digging into things I should’ve left alone.

The burn was small. Barely even blistering..

And if he could get close enough to snap pictures of me in the back of a cab... what else could he do?

I tried to shove the thoughts away as I nudged Dominic’s bedroom door open with my elbow.

Dom was half-buried under the duvet again, only the messy top of his hair was visible. He stirred when the light fell across his face, groaning like a wounded animal.

"Hey," I murmured, trying to keep my voice steady. "Sit up. Tea’s ready."

He cracked one eye open, blinking at me. "You cook fast."

"Yeah," I muttered, carefully setting the bowl and mug on the nightstand. "Peppermint tea. It’ll help your throat."

He sniffled, sitting upright.

"Also helps with congestion," I said, avoiding his eyes as I picked up the mug. I held it out, trying my best not to flinch when the hot ceramic brushed my burned palm.

Dominic curled both hands around the cup, blinking down at it. "You didn’t have to do all this."

"I know." I swallowed. "But you’d eat nothing but garlic knots off pizza and die. So. Consider this self-preservation."

He laughed, then coughed into the sleeve of his hoodie. When he looked up again, his eyes narrowed on my face....like he was searching for something.

I shifted back, wiping my other hand on my jeans. "I’m almost done cooking. I just need to finish the noodles."

"Hey..." His voice came softer. "Ash."

"Yeah?" I tried to turn toward the door, but he spoke again.

"Are you okay?" Dominic tipped his head, studying me through his fever-hazy eyes. "You look like you’ve seen a ghost."

I forced a smile. "I’m fine for real. Why?"

He squinted at me. "I dunno... you’re doing that thing where bite your lower lips."

"Yeah, I’m fine."

"Are you sure?" He sipped the tea, then set it down, still watching me. "I can...come help you in the kitchen. If you want."

"Absolute not, you’re sick," I mumbled.

He ignored me. "The stove here’s tricky. Took me weeks to figure how to use the burners. Diane almost burned the kitchen down trying to toast a bagel." He chuckled. "Swear to God, there was smoke pouring out the windows."

He tilted his head again. "So...you want backup? I’m not saying I’m useful, but..." His smile turned crooked. "Moral support is free."

I looked down my palm... already throbbing in time with my heartbeat, and closed my fist around it before he could see.

"No," I said quietly. "It’s okay. Just...stay here. Rest. I’ll be right back."

Dominic lifted the mug. "Yes, Chef Rivera."