But the thought of him leaving makes my chest ache.
I dry my face and head through to the kitchen, telling myself I just need water. That I'm not hoping he's awake. That I'm definitely not thinking about what would happen if I just... gave in to whatever this is heating my blood.
The living room is dark except for the blue glow of his phone. He's awake, sitting up on the couch, shirtless with bandages wrapped around his torso. He looks up when I enter, those winter-grey eyes finding me immediately.
"Can't sleep?" he asks, voice low and rough.
"Needed water."
"Liar."
My pulse kicks up. "Excuse me?"
"You're not here for water. You're here because of me."
The arrogance would usually annoy me. Instead, it makes something clench between my thighs.
"You're very sure of yourself."
"I'm sure of you."
I look back at the door I just came through. The door I should retreat through, back to the safety of my room.
I stay rooted.
"What makes you so certain?" I ask, still a few feet away from him. Close enough to see the change in his attention, far enough that I can still pretend this is casual.
"The way you look at me when you think I'm not paying attention. The way your breath changes when we get close. The way you haven't told me to leave even though you know you should."
"Maybe I just have terrible judgment."
"Maybe." His mouth curves. "Or maybe you finally found someone who sees you."
I scoff. "You don't know me."
"I know you're exhausted. I know you've been struggling alone for too long. I know you gave everything to a system that broke you, and now you're giving everything to a business that's failing, and no one's taking care of you."
My throat tightens. "I don't need—"
"You do. You need someone to tell you to eat. To sleep. To stop carrying everything alone. You need someone who won't let you drown beneath it all."
"And that's you?"
"Yes." The certainty in his voice makes my knees weak. I sink into the chair across from him, suddenly unable to stand.
"I’m losing my mind," I whisper, scrubbing my hands over my face and pressing my fingers against my eyes, willing away the tears that have appeared there away.
"No, you’re not. You’re grieving. It’s easy to mistake the two when you don’t want to face the things that are making you grieve in the first place."
My head snaps up. His face is entirely devoid of expression. There’s nothing there to tell me what the hell he means, and it infuriates me.
“Nursing isn’t a job. It’s a vocation. One you left for reasons beyond your control. It’s natural to grieve that. You lost your aunt, from what I can see,” he gestures absently to the photographs around the room, “she is the woman who raised you. The grief from that would be immeasurable. Now you’re losing your business, which has a double impact, because it was originally your aunt’s.”
He heaves a sigh and adjusts himself on the sofa with a wince. “That would be enough to crush anybody. But here youare, carrying it like your entire life depends on using it to keep everyone else out.”
A shuddering exhale is torn from my chest as his words sink in. An uncontrollable trembling began partway through his little speech, and the fact that I can’t seem to get control of myself scares me.
“It’s okay to grieve Lily. I’m sorry you haven’t been able to before now. But now I’m here, and I’ll always protect you, even from yourself.”
