“I did not know that.”
“They are. Very politely.” I lean my head against the window, cool glass against my forehead. “Like a parade.”
“You’re adorable when you’re high.”
“I’m adorable all the time.”
He laughs, warm and genuine. “Fair point.”
The car turns, smooth and easy. I close my eyes, let the motion rock me. Everything feels muffled, distant. Pain exists somewhere far away, held back by whatever they pumped into my IV.
“Chris had to go,” I say, remembering suddenly. “The arraignment.”
“Yeah. He’ll be back soon.”
I reach over, pat his arm. Miss the first time, connect the second. “You’re good at being a person.”
He smiles. “Thanks, Nina.”
“Chris is too. He just doesn’t know it yet.” My stomach growls audibly and I press a hand to it. “I’m starving. Can you make me a grilled cheese when we get home?” A yawn cracks my jaw. “Chris used to make me and Callie grilled cheese after school. He’d already be in the kitchen when we got home.” I smile at the ceiling. “Best grilled cheeses in the world.”
Wyatt doesn’t say anything for a moment. “I think we can manage that.”
I nod, satisfied. Let my eyes drift closed again. The darkness is warm, welcoming. I could sleep for days.
The car slows, turns. Stops. The engine cuts off, leaving only the tick of cooling metal.
“We’re home,” Wyatt murmurs. “Let’s get you inside.”
He opens my door, helps me stand. My legs work but everything moves underwater-slow, like I’m wading through something thick. His arm around my waist grounds me, keeps me upright.
“Stairs,” he warns.
I focus. Left foot. Right foot. Left again. The front step with the floral doormat materializes under me. Then the door, opening into the sunny foyer.
“Lucia’s watching from inside,” he murmurs. “Darius is doing a perimeter sweep.”
“Always watching.”
“Always.”
He guides me down the hall to my bedroom. The bed looks impossibly far away, then impossibly close. I sit, steadying myself with one hand on the mattress. Wyatt crouches in front of me, slips off my shoes.
“Arms up.”
I raise them obediently. He pulls the oversized sweater over my head, then the soft bra beneath. I’m naked from the waist up, exposed and vulnerable, but Wyatt’s face stays carefully neutral. Professional, almost. Like he’s a nurse completing a task.
“This is very unsexy undressing,” I inform him.
“That’s the goal.”
He reaches for the shirt draped over my footboard—oversized, soft cotton, nothing that will press against the incisions. I put my arms through the sleeves and he pulls it gently over my head. When he tugs it past my breasts, my gaze catches on my lower abdomen.
Three small bandages. Neat white squares against my skin, marking where they went in.
Where they made sure I’ll never have to be terrified again.
Emotion rises swift and unexpected, tightening my throat. My eyes burn.
