Todos los capítulos de Rewinding My Reaper Boyfriend: Capítulo 61 - Capítulo 70

The walk back from the boathouse was silent, but it wasn't the heavy, loaded silence of before. It was the silence of two soldiers returning to base after a truce had been signed.The sun had dipped below the tree line, painting the estate in long, bruised shadows of purple and grey. Elion walked beside Cale, their arms brushing with every step."You're limping," Elion noted, his voice low.Cale corrected his stride instantly. "I am not.""You are. Left leg. Is that from the fall? Or from the rewind?""It's from standing still too long," Cale said. "Joints seize up when you don't move. Entropy applies to cartilage too.""We need to get you ice," Elion said. "And food. You haven't eaten since the almonds.""I don't require much fuel.""Stop talking like a machine," Elion scolded gently. "You're a biological entity. You need calories. And frankly, you look like you're about to pass out."Cale looked at him. The corner of his mouth ticked up."You are bossy when you have information," Ca

The location for the afternoon challenge was a wooded area at the edge of the estate, a dense thicket of pines and oaks that blocked out the sun and muffled the sounds of the city.It should have been peaceful. Instead, it looked like an Ewok village constructed by a liability lawyer.Ropes were strung between trees. Wooden platforms swayed in the breeze. A mud pit waited ominously at the finish line."Welcome to 'The Path of Love'!" Mira shouted, her voice echoing off the trees. She was wearing camouflage cargo pants, which looked ridiculous with her stilettos. "Love isn't a highway, people! It's a rugged trail! It's full of obstacles! It's dirty!"Elion stood by the starting line, adjusting the straps of his helmet."She's enjoying this too much," Elion muttered."She enjoys the metaphor," Cale said. He was standing next to Elion, staring into the woods. He looked paler than usual. The nosebleed from the elevator incident had stopped, but he held himself with a rigid fragility, like

The door to Suite 1 clicked shut, sealing them in.For the first time in weeks, the silence didn't feel peaceful. It felt heavy. It felt like the air in a sickroom.Cale stood—or rather, leaned—against the doorframe, his weight resting heavily on the aluminum crutches. The bright blue cast on his left leg looked alien against his dark trousers, a garish reminder of gravity's victory."I can manage," Cale said, his voice tight with pain he refused to acknowledge."You can barely stand," Elion countered, dropping Cale’s satchel on the desk. "And you look grey. Greyer than usual.""It's the lighting.""It's the tibia, Cale. Sit down."Elion gestured to the chaise lounge.Cale looked at the chaise. It was low. Getting down to it would be a logistical nightmare. Getting up would be worse."I'm fine standing," Cale lied."You're swaying. If you fall, I can't catch you. Physics, remember? You're bigger than me."Elion walked over. He didn't ask for permission. He moved Cale’s left arm over h

The tuxedo didn't fit over the cast.Elion knelt on the floor of Suite 1, a pair of fabric scissors in his hand, looking at the left pant leg of the expensive designer suit Mira had sent up."I have to cut it," Elion said. "There's no other way."Cale sat on the edge of the bed, his bad leg extended stiffly. He looked like a fallen king forced to wear rags."It's Italian wool," Cale noted. "Mira will deduct it from your stipend.""Let her deduct it. I'm not letting you go downstairs in sweatpants. Not tonight.""Why not? I am injured. Comfort should be the priority.""Because tonight is the 'Mid-Season Gala'," Elion said, snipping the fabric up to the knee. "Which means cameras, press, and Kieran looking for blood. If you look weak, they'll eat you alive. If you look stylishly injured, you're a tragic hero.""Perception management," Cale murmured."Exactly."Elion finished the cut. He helped Cale slide the pants on. It was a struggle, requiring a level of physical intimacy that had be

The lawn of the estate had been transformed into an English garden party straight out of a period drama.White tents fluttered in the breeze. Waiters circulated with Pimm's Cups. There was even a croquet set arranged on the manicured grass, the wooden mallets and colorful balls gleaming in the sunlight.It was picturesque. It was elegant.And to Cale, it was a prison yard.He sat in his wheelchair on the slate patio, parked in the shade of a large umbrella. His leg was propped up, the blue cast looking garish against the sophisticated backdrop. He had refused the painkillers again, needing his mind sharp, but the throbbing in his tibia was a constant, dull rhythm accompanying his dark thoughts."You look like a gargoyle," Kieran noted, leaning against the umbrella pole. "A very well-dressed gargoyle, but still. You're bringing down the property value.""I am observing," Cale said, his eyes fixed on the center of the lawn."Observing your replacement?" Kieran asked, pointing his glass.