“Nothing to you,” she counters, planting those fists on her hips like the first day I noticed her. “But a lot to me.”
There it is. That wall. I see it go up, brick by brick, or pride, challenge, and too much damn independence. I scrub a hand over my jaw, try to pick my words more carefully than I have in years. Maybe ever.
“Okay. Then call it even for putting up with my brother’s shit. You kept him alive. Changed his dressings, made sure he didn’t get up and act a fool. Yelled at him when he was being a dumbass. Which is all the time.”
Her mouth twitches, not quite in humor, even though it was intended that way.
“That’s my job.”
“Then this is mine, baby.”
My fists clench and unclench, trying to stop myself from grabbing her and crushing her against me. She looks so damn pretty that it takes everything in me not to pick her up and fuck her against every wall in this place.
“Fixing what I can. Calling the guy who can reinforce what I can’t. Making sure you’re not stuck in here with a broken lock and a psycho ex. Let me do that much.”
She looks at me for a long time. Really looks. I stand still and let her. My heart’s doing that stupid uneven beat again, like it can’t decide if it wants to speed up or crash.
“Fine,” she says at last, voice softer. “Thank you. For the locks. For bringing me home.”
But not for anything else, and it chips away at my heart even more. A stupid part of me wants to say that this isn’t home. Home is with us. With me. Wants to shove the words out, force them between us the way Em forces everything.
I swallow them instead.
“You sure you don’t want us to hire someone to sit outside?” I’m not ready to let her go. “Just for a few days. Make sure he doesn’t come back. I’ll pay. No questions asked.”
Her expression goes flat. Calm. That nurse in charge calm that means she’s done. I’ve seen it far too many times to like it.
“I can’t have that. If my landlord finds out I have some mystery man hanging around my door, asking about an ex and a break-in, it’s going to be questions, drama, and paperwork. I can’t risk it, Papito. Not for my job. Not for my family.”
I hate that she’s right. Hate that the same systems that should protect her would make her life harder.
“You’ll text me when you get off your next shift?” I push, needing something. A thread. Anything. She hesitates. For a heartbeat, I think she’s going to say no. That she’ll cut us loose clean, rip the bandaid off.
“I’ll text when I’m home from my next shift.”
“But you’re off tomorrow, right? I can bring you something. Food or walk with you and Paco. Or?—”
“I’m working tomorrow.”
“Oh, okay.”
“But I’ll text you when I’m in for the night, so you know I made it safe. That’s all I can promise right now.”
Right now. It’s not a no. But it’s not a yes either. I nod. It feels like swallowing broken glass. She steps closer. My heart slams. Paco bumps my ankle, and I barely keep from kicking him by accident.
She rises on her toes. For one second, I think she’s going to kiss me the way she did in my bathroom. Deep, messy, claiming. She doesn’t. Her lips touch my cheek. Light. Barely there. A thank-you, not a promise.
“Take care of your brother. He’s more hurt than he lets on.”
“Yeah,” I manage. “I know.”
“And take care of yourself. You carry a lot. You don’t have to carry me, too.”
But I want to, I don’t say. I want to carry you most. I step back instead. If I stay one second longer, I’m going to break every rule she just set for me.
“Text me when you’re home. After your shift. Anytime you fuck, just text, Sofia. Even if it’s just a picture of Paco’s ugly face.”
Her lips curve the slightest bit. “Ay, he’s beautiful.”
