I push myself slowly to my feet. The movement pulls at my ribs, but it’s manageable now. A week ago I would’ve been back on the mattress in seconds.
Ryan’s body shifts instantly, like he’s ready to catch me.
“I’m fine,” I say.
“You’re healing.”
“That’s basically the same thing.”
“It’s not.”
I sigh dramatically.
“You’re impossible.”
He pushes off the doorframe and walks toward me anyway, one big hand coming to rest lightly on my lower back.
Just in case.
“You almost died last week,” he says quietly.
The words aren’t harsh.
They’re heavy.
Real.
My chest tightens slightly, but I nod.
“I know.”
He studies my face for another second before nodding once.
“Good.”
Then he jerks his head toward the dresser.
“Get dressed.”
I look down at myself.
I’m already wearing one of his shirts.
Of course I am.
The hem brushes the tops of my thighs and the sleeves swallow my hands.
“I am dressed.”
“Put pants on.”
“Bossy.”
“You love it.”
“Debatable.”
Ryan smirks.
