Kai is on the couch, laptop open, papers spread across the coffee table. Still in yesterday's clothes. Boot propped on a pillow, but his face is tight, pale beneath the stubble.
“Please tell me you slept,” I say.
He looks up. Has the audacity to smile. “Define sleep.”
“Kai.”
“I dozed. On and off.” He gestures at the papers. “The Silverpoint bid needed adjustments. Council pushed back on the environmental assessment, wanted more data before the vote.”
I walk over, arms crossed. “So you stayed up all night working instead of healing.”
“I'm fine.”
“You're gray. Literally gray. There's no color in your face.”
“That's just my natural complexion. Very fashionable.”
I don't laugh. He sighs.
“You used to find my terrible jokes funny.”
I adjust the pillow under his cast. “That was before you started hurting yourself.”
“Emma. I can't just lie here and do nothing. The company doesn't stop because I'm on crutches.”
“No, but you could delegate. You have a whole team. That's what they're for.”
“I don't delegate well.”
“I've noticed.”
He closes the laptop, winces as he shifts his weight. Small, quickly hidden, but I catch it.
“Have you taken your meds?” I ask.
“I don't need?—“
“Kaiden.”
A beat. “No.”
I head to the kitchen, find the prescription bottles lined up on the counter. Check my notes from the nurse, shake out the right pills, fill a glass of water. When I bring them to him, he looks at me like I've handed him poison.
“They make me foggy,” he says.
“They make you heal.”
“I can't think straight on them.”
“You can't think straight without sleep either.” I hold out the pills. “Take them. Then I'm making you breakfast, and then you're going back to bed. Actual bed, not the couch.”
“You're very bossy in the morning.”
“I'm very bossy all the time. You're just now noticing because you can't run away.”
The resistance in his face softens. He takes the pills, swallows them dry despite the water I'm offering. A small act of rebellion I choose to ignore.
“Thank you,” he says quietly.
