The door shuts softly behind him.
I lie back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling. My body is still weak, and my heart is doing something reckless and stupid and entirely on its own.
Is this how we could have been if the world hadn’t stepped in and tore us apart?
54
Lorenzo
I’ve triedto keep away. But shit, it’s much fucking harder than I anticipated.
It’s been three days since I slept in her room for the first time. Yep, I’ve camped out there every night since.
I’m fucking pathetic.
But in my defense . . . there is no defense. I just can’t keep away.
Even now, as I’m halfway down the hall, I can hear her, a soft, muffled gasp filtering past the closed door to her room.
Then another.
I take a deep breath.
Don’t check on her.
She’s okay.
Another sound. This time, it sounds like a cough.
Shit.
My hand stops on the banister, fingers tightening.
She’s been sick for days, but she no longer has a fever, so she’s recovering.
Yet something about the sound of her in pain has me wanting to turn around and go to her.
I should keep walking, but my feet move before I can stop them. I’m at her bedroom door in three strides, and I’m pushing it open before I can stop myself.
Her room is dim, but I can still see her. She’s twisted in the sheets, hair fanned across the pillow. Her face is pinched with lips parted.
“No,” she whispers.
The word isn’t loud, but my jaw still tightens.
I step closer.
Her body jerks again, a tremor running through her body. “I didn’t—” she breathes, voice cracking. “I didn’t . . . I’m sorry . . . I’m sorry . . .”
My throat goes tight. She might not say it, but deep in my gut, I know exactly who she’s apologizing to.
And that someone is me.
I stop at the edge of her bed, staring down at her.
She chokes on a breath. “Please—”
I don’t think. I just sit on the edge of the mattress and gently grab her wrist.
