“Fuck. D,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry.”
“We’re not starting the day with that,” I say firmly. “New rule.”
His brows pull together. “With what? Me apologizing for punching you in the face in my sleep?”
“With you flogging yourself,” I correct. “You apologized about twenty times last night. I accepted. The contract isbinding. No more apologizing unless you actually do something wrong. And PTSD is not wrong.”
He stares at me like he’s not sure whether to laugh or cry. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And yet you still love me,” I say, dropping onto the edge of the coffee table so we’re eye-level. “How did you sleep?”
He huffs out a humorless breath. “Didn’t.”
“Okay. That’s not going to fly long term.”
“I know.”
“Then we’ll figure it out,” I say simply. “Therapist, doctor, whatever we need. But right now, I’d really like coffee.”
That finally pulls a tiny smile from him. “You and my mother are the same person.”
“Terrifying thought,” I mutter, getting to my feet. “Come on. Let’s face the firing squad.”
He grimaces as he grabs his leg. “They’re going to treat me like a bomb.”
“They’re going to treat me like a porcelain doll, and you like you’re made of glass,” I say. “So, let’s go act aggressively normal and short-circuit it.”
Aggressively normal lasts exactly seven seconds. The moment we step into the dining area, all conversation stops. Caroline is at the table with her phone, and Robert with his newspaper and a pot of coffee. Everly and Faith are stuffing themselves with croissants.
All four heads swivel toward us in perfect synchrony.
Caroline’s eyes go straight to my cheek, and she gasps softly, hand flying to her mouth. “Oh, sweetheart.”
“I’m fine,” I say quickly, holding up a hand. “I swear. It looks worse than it is.”
“That’s because it looks like you’ve been in a bar fight,” Everly says, trying for light, but her eyes are too wide.
“Technically, I was in bed,” I point out. “So, y’know, maybe we call it a pillow fight gone wrong.”
Robert snorts despite himself.
Charlie steps away from me slightly, arms crossing, putting actual physical space between us like that will protect me.
I hate it.
“Coffee?” Caroline offers, already pouring.
“Yes, please,” I say, moving to sit beside Everly. “And if anyone asks, I ran into a door.”
Faith arches a brow. “You’re really going to use the door excuse?”
“You’re right.” I sigh. “I tripped over my own fabulousness.”
That gets a proper laugh out of Everly at least.
Caroline slides a mug in front of me and brushes my hair back gently so she can inspect the bruise. “Any dizziness? Nausea?”
“Just the regular amount,” I joke. “No concussion symptoms, promise.”
