“Another bonus of starting the day early is I was able to talk to Roman,” I say. “He called me an hour after I got in?—”
“At four a.m. Hawaii time?”
“He couldn’t sleep.”
“The nightmares?”
“He didn’t say as much. He blamed it on being in a strange bed?—”
“Bullshit,” Slate says. “The manwhore is a professional bed hopper.”
“True.” I laugh a little. “He’s been bedridden for over a month since the accident, so he must think I’m stupid. The nightmares are the culprit for his sleepless nights even if he’s lying to himself.”
“Shit,” Slate says. “I can’t imagine watching two buddies get engulfed by rogue waves and feeling totally helpless while struggling to save my own life.”
I nod. “That kind of trauma changes you. Only time and therapy will help him cope.”
Without the nurses and doctors watching over our brother, we’d still be oblivious to his nightly turmoil. He’s been guarded on the subject.
“True,” Slate says. “How is he doing physically?”
“A little better every day. After another barrage of tests, the doctors are confident he’ll be able to walk again. No permanent spinal injury.”
“Amen to that,” Slate says.
“Thank God, indeed.” I echo my brother’s sentiment. “He’s going to start working with a physical therapist next week—only the upper body. At least it’s good news.”
“It’s excellent news.”
“He called Dad to tell him after he hung up with me. I told him I’d relay the message to you and Wilder,” I say. “The other reason Roman called is because he wants me to put him back to work. He’s dying to sink his teeth into a project—anything to prevent him from losing his mind to boredom.”
“Typical König,” Slate says.
“That, he is.”
“Are you going to get him started on one of our new acquisitions?”
I shake my head. “I put my foot down. I told him it wasn’t going to happen.”
“I’m sure you’re his favorite person in the world,” Slate says.
“He told me to fuck off. I told him I still loved him.”
Slate bursts out laughing.
“Until Roman is able to get on a plane and return home, I told him his only job is to focus on getting better. None of this”—I open my arms—“means shit if he’s not one hundred percent.” I hold Slate’s gaze. “I suspect that’s the real reason he wants me to keep him busy… more than the boredom of being bedridden with limited mobility.”
“Going back to the reason you got here so early, how did it go with Michaela?”
“It’s safe to say she was overwhelmed.”
“Understandably so,” Slate says. “Is she onboard?”
I share the highlights of my lunch with my maybe-bride.
“I told her to sleep on it. I’ll call her by the end of the day,” I say. “We both have a lot to lose if she decides to walk away from this deal. Putting pressure on her won’t get me an answer any faster. I want her to be certain about this because we’re going to have tosellthis fairytale romance hard.”
“If she’s onboard, you need to step up your game,” my brother says.
