The Duplicate

Chapter Thirty-two

"That noise?" I ask.

He releases a low huff in response, going back to his food.

"He's only a baby." My thoughts rewind to the fit Noah pitched when Leah wouldn't let him pull her hair at the table just a few minutes ago. "And I'm pretty sure he's going through his terrible twos."

"The kid needs a muzzle."

"Yeah, well, so do you."

Tipping his coffee to his lips, Trip eyes me coolly over the rim of the mug.

I bite another smirk down. My gaze flickers over him. "How is your shoulder?"

"Fine."

"I should probably check it."

"It's already starting to heal, nurse." He must see the doubt fall over my expression, because he sets the mug down and adds, "I heal fast. You should know that."

At first, I don't understand how I could possibly know that. But a second later, I remember. He's a duplicate. Genetically mutated to have a stronger immune system, designed to stay healthy and heal quickly. I should know that. "That's right," I murmur. I didn't consciously move my hand, but now my fingers are running through my hair. "I forgot."

Trip grunts.

"I did."

"Forgot what, exactly? That I've been tampered with? Or that I'm a duplicate?"

"Both."

It's Trip's turn to look doubtful.

"It's not something I think about constantly." That's only half true. I try not to think about it. I try not to make the connections between the duplicates I'm used to seeing and the duplicate standing in front of me now. And I realize this conversation is getting a little too close to the topic of last night's argument. When Trip gives no comment, maybe thinking the same thing, I study the dark shadows under his eyes and change the subject. "You look like a zombie."

"Yeah, well, so do you."

"Thanks, Trip."

And like that, the tricky switch inside him flips. He glances at me sideways, eyes glittering with sly humor. It surprises me, as it always does. Those pale eyes are so much brighter, not so steely that way, and despite his stress, that's twice today he's given me that look—like he thinks something is funny. Like he thinks I am funny.

But then his gaze focuses past me, over my shoulder. The humor disappears.

"You guys are in a good mood."

I turn to find Dax standing a few feet away behind me. A smile purses his lips as he looks between me and Trip.

"We're bickering," I say, crossing my arms over my chest, shrugging. "We always bicker." But now my cheeks are warming. And now Trip isn't lifting his eyes from his plate.

I shift when Dax raises his eyebrows.

"Mm-hm. Okay." He strolls up and falls into the computer chair next to me. Still smiling. His eyes flick back and forth between us once more before turning to his laptop. "Anywaaay, Aubrey said we can sleep in here tonight." He nods towards the L-shaped couch and clunks away on his keyboard. "There's a full-sized pullout bed in that, and there's the other side of that couch, which means..."

Two of us get the bed. One of us gets the couch.

Suddenly, Dax spins the computer chair to look up at Trip. Elbow planted on the arm of chair, back of his hand covering his mouth, he tries to hide his grin. But he's failing. "Are you going to sleep next to Evette again, Triple?"