On the other side of the room, Silas’s cell phone rings and he steps out to take the call, leaving me to myspiral.
I just need to know he’s okay.
It feels as if Silas is gone for hours when he finally opens the door again, but it isn’t to come inside.
“We can go see him.” He tells me. I’m quick on his heels, following him a few doors down. He doesn’t pause or knock when he gets to the room, just lets himself inside, but I’m much slower to enter. Through the open door, I can see Roman lying in the hospital bed, a heart monitor beeping steadily on the side and an IV hooked up on the other. Molten gold-colored eyes meet mine, somewhat drowsy, and it looks like he relaxes, his lips parting on a breath.
“Careful, sweetheart,” He rasps. “Keep looking at me like that and I might let you kiss me again.”
Chapter 18
Silas clears his throat, and I finally drag my eyes away from Niamh. He’d come in first, but I only had eyes for her. I’d done a quick check of her body to make sure she was okay before I’d landed on her face, but I hadn’t expected to see my own reflection staring back at me.
It was relief. That she was okay, and that I was okay — well, somewhat. I have a couple of broken ribs and bruising to my upper back from the fall, but none of that matters when she’s looking at me like that. Like she cares.
Shit. I think I mightlike my wife.
No, I don’t think. I know. And I want her to be closer; that itch has transformed, changed to a burning need to taste her again. To see her. Tofeelher. I want her silky hair threading through my fingers, those pillowy lips pressed to mine so I can have her on my tongue.
I’m not going to let her pretend she didn’t kiss me last night. She can blame the alcohol, but that want I felt coming from her matched my own.
“Are you okay?” She finally steps into the room, eyes on everything but me.
“It looks worse than it is,” I assure her, tracking her every move. She’s wringing her hands, her nervous energy an aura that vibrates around her body.
I glance at Silas, who gives a subtle shake of his head and pulls out his phone, typing something before he turns the screen to me.
She doesn’t like hospitals.
I dip my chin, understanding before I focus back on my wife, “Niamh.”
“Hmm?” She rolls her lips inward, eyes on her wringing hands while she stands too far away from me.
“Talk to me.” But she doesn’t, instead she turns around, moving her attention to the window and the view of the city beyond.
“I’m going to get coffee,” Silas mumbles, showing himself out and leaving us in private.
Silence settles in the room, Niamh remaining at the window with her back to me. She’s stiff, her spine ramrod straight. I want to ask her about hospitals, help her, but I don’t want to cross boundaries too soon.
“You going to look at me, sweetheart?” I press.
A heavy sigh leaves her as she finally turns to look at me, eyes flicking between the heart monitor and the IV.
“Are you really okay?” She asks, “Silas said you were targeted. Is that true?”
“We can talk about that later,” I sigh, pissed that he told her.
She purses her lips. “Roman.”
“I want to talk about last night.”
Her throat works on a swallow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
A chuckle leaves me followed by a hiss of pain when my ribs and the bruising smarts, pain flaring through my chest. She steps closer, reaching for me but stops herself, tucking her arm around her middle instead.
“You don’t know what I’m talking about?” I say once the pain has eased and I can catch my breath, “Are you sure about that?”
She meets my eyes before they drop to my mouth, and she wets her lips. “I was drunk; it was a mistake.”
