“I’m okay,” I assure him, tucking the bottle between my thigh and the arm of the couch.
“You haven’t had any for a while,” He says. “You’re not hurting?”
The way Roman cares shows in every move he makes, every word he speaks. He cares hard, pours all of himself into it and since the accident, that attention has been on me. He doesn’t let me out of his sight for more than a few minutes, has held me tight as if he’s afraid to let me go, that I may slip through his fingers if he does. I see the tension in the creases at the edges of his eyes, the way his shoulders have barely loosenedsince the hospital room. This whole thing with his dad has him on edge, and it certainly doesn’t help that the cops aren’t doing anything about it. I can’t imagine the memories this is dragging up, the demons right along with them.
“Not right now,” I bite into my pizza and settle back, watching Silas try to wrangle his kids to sit and eat instead of the dancing they’re attempting to do. Eventually he gives up, steals a slice of pizza for himself and collapses onto the chair beside the large fireplace, dark circles under his eyes. He looks stressed and tired, heavy, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to ask, but I’m not sure it’s my place.
Roman presses a kiss to my temple before he grabs a slice for himself.
“None of that!” Remy tuts in mock offence. “There are children present.”
A pizza crust hits him square in the middle of the forehead, and all eyes snap to Silas as silence settles. Even the kids have stopped moving.
“Did you just throw fucking pizza at me?” Remy hisses. “Why is everyone always throwing food at me!?”
“Because you never keep your big mouth shut,” Silas shrugs, reaching for another slice.
“Daddy, he said a bad word,” Rosie frowns.
“He did, didn’t he?” Silas agrees with her. “Ten in the swear jar.”
“Swear jar?” Roman asks. “Since when?”
“Since I started this job with that ranch and I’m finding myselfslippinga lot. I’m going to have to spend acouple of weeks down there. Just gotta wait for the nanny to get a week free so I can go.”
“That bad?” Roman asks.
“I’m not talking about it,” Silas grunts. “Pay up, Remy.”
Rosie darts off to her rucksack and comes back with an already quarter-full glass jar. “You carry that around everywhere?” I ask her.
“Mmhmm.” She opens the lid and holds it up to Remy. “Daddy is saying a lot of bad words, and as he always tells me, consequences have actions.”
“Actions have consequences,” Silas corrects her gently, “But you’re right, bug, they do.”
Remy grumbles as he slides a ten into the jar, Rosie almost catching the tips of his fingers with the lid as she snaps it closed behind him.
Roman’s arm tightens, and though he joins in the conversation with his brothers, he never truly relaxes, not when every bump and knock from outside has him ready to spring into action.
After everyone leaves, and the house turns so quiet you can hear the old walls creak, I watch him as he checks every lock and window before he grabs a shotgun from inside the closet.
“Roman.” I stop him. “What are we doing?”
He looks at the gun and then back at me.
“You’re letting him control you,” I tell him gently. “He’s not here, and yet you’re doing exactly what he wants you to do. Stop giving him the reaction he wants.”
His shoulders sag in defeat.
“Take me to bed, cowboy,” I go to him, wrapping my arms around his waist where I then tip my head up to keep my eyes on his.
“Say you need me,” He whispers the same four words he’s said several times before. It’s not hard to realize he needs to hear them, to keep him grounded and here.
“I need you.” I answer without hesitation.
Chapter 30
I knew nothing would come from the investigation, and yet hearing the words, having them spoken to my face like I’m fucking crazy, has my blood hitting boiling point. It’s just like then — the same pitying looks, the sameno evidence suggests your father had any part in this.
