“Thought you’d say that.”
As characters flitted across the screen, I found myself watching River, the way his lips quirked at a joke as he chewed the delicious food, or when he stopped with his food mid-air because the main characters almost kissed.
I couldn’t finish all my food, but I already felt so much better having eaten something.
When he finished, River resumed his place on the couch behind me. I closed my eyes, relishing the feel of his arms around me and the warmth of the blanket. If I wasn’t careful, I’d fall asleep on him.
“You know, if I had a superpower,” he said, his breath a warm whisper against my ear, “it’d be to make clothes fold themselves.”
“Because that’s what the world needs,” I retorted, stifling a yawn, “a laundry-themed superhero.”
“Hey, don’t mock the small conveniences,” he shot back, his tone indignant. “Next, you’ll tell me you wouldn’t want a power to never lose your keys again.”
“Touché.”
River’s hand found mine, fingers intertwining naturally.
“Sometimes I think…” his voice trailed off, hesitant.
“Think what?” I asked, turning my head slightly to look at him. His eyes were a soft green in the low light, reflective pools that seemed to hold entire galaxies.
“Never mind. It’s nothing.” His gaze dropped, focusing on where our hands were joined.
“Tell me,” I urged gently, squeezing his hand. “Please.”
He sighed, a sound filled with a lifetime of longing and restraint. “I just… I cherish this. Us. I always have.”
“Me too, River.” The admission came easily because it was the purest truth I knew. In all my past relationships, I’d never felt the kind of peace I did with him, never experienced such a harmonious intermingling of souls.
“Whatever happens,” he began, his voice a steady stream threading through the silence, “I want you to know that this, what we have, whatever it is, means everything to me.”
“River, I—” Emotion swelled in my throat, thickening my words. “It means everything to me too. More than I ever thought.”
23
RIVER
Lying there, with the morning light coming through the partially open curtains, I watched Adam breathe. There was something sacred in the stillness of watching someone sleep, something intimate and rare. I let myself get lost in it—his chest rising and falling with a rhythm that relaxed my worried heart.
I remembered the panic that had gripped me days ago when his fever spiked. Twenty-four-hour thing, my ass. But now, the worry lines that had etched themselves across my forehead smoothed away as I saw no trace of sickness on his serene face. His skin was free of that unnatural heat, his breaths deep and even.
He seemed so at peace. A stray lock of his dirty-blond hair fell across his forehead, and I resisted the urge to reach out and brush it aside to feel the warmth of his skin under my fingertips.
I propped myself up on one elbow, careful not to jostle the bed, but the vibration of my phone broke the stillness in the room.Momflashed on the screen, reminding me I hadn’t called her as I’d promised myself I would.
“Sorry,” I whispered, as much to Adam as to myself, before tapping the screen and bringing the phone to my ear.
“Morning, Mom,” I said, my voice hushed.
She launched into her usual inquiries, and I found myself caught between the desire to share everything and the fear of saying too much. As I spoke, my gaze lingered on Adam, drinking in the sight of him, the reality.
“Everything’s fine,” I assured her, and it was true, in a way. Adam’s recovery was a relief that settled warm in my chest.
“River, are you sure?” she pressed, her maternal instincts attuned to the nuances in my voice.
“Positive,” I replied. “How about you?”
“It’s been great here, but I’m getting antsy and homesick. I think I’m going to end the contract here and come home. My old boss has been pestering me to return to the hospital.”
