Page 25 of Sweet Oblivion

For a moment, it feels like I’m witnessing something I shouldn’t be privy to.

A private moment I’m intruding on in my own home.

She signs something, her hands moving fluidly, the motion like an extension of her body.

He nods immediately, no pause, no confusion. No lip reading. Just understanding.

Effortless understanding.

His dad joins the two a moment later, slipping an arm around both of them.

Ryker doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t stiffen or pause. There’s no posturing or ego.

Just . . . love.

Simple. Solid. Unapologetic.

I’m not sure I’ve ever felt that.

I glance at Olivia, and something in my chest loosens when I catch the look on her face, like she’s about thirty seconds away from ordering everyone into seats and taking control of the situation and the room.

Honestly, she might be the most intimidating person in the room.

Maybe all the emotions are a bit hard for her too.

Standing tall and beautiful in a black skirt suit that looks like it costs my entire month’s rent and a pair of red-soled shoes that Iknowcosts more than it, she steps up beside me. Her eyes sweep over my face, cataloging every bruise and cut before stopping on the fingerprints disappearing beneath my hoodie. “How are you feeling?” Her eyes continue their lap down my body. “Because you look like shit.”

I huff out a quiet breath. Blunt I can handle. It’s easier than whatever emotional ambush is happening in my kitchen.

“I’ll be okay,” I tell her, hoping if I say it enough times, I might actually believe it too.

“Hmmm . . .” She doesn’t sound convinced. “Nice deflection.”

Before I get a chance to respond, movement pulls my attention back to the man crossing my apartment.

My dark knight.

He’s closer now.

Within reach. Within breathing distance. Within touching distance.

“Hey.” He bends his knees to bring us eye to eye.

Just one single word, but it lands like a touch. One I surprisingly don’t hate.

My chest tightens as I lift my eyes. “I’m okay.”

“You don’t have to fake it for me, Lane,” he whispers, not buying the lie.

His hand slowly lifts, like he’s giving me time to pull away. But I don’t. I don’t move a muscle. I’m not even sure I breathe as his fingers run along the stitches holding my cheek together, careful not to touch. Barely a trace, and yet somehow, I feel it everywhere. Like he’s checking to make sure they’re okay after my earlier shower.

I was careful not to get the bandage wet, but I should probably change it anyway.

Unfortunately, I’m all too familiar with how to care for stitches.

Last night was not my first time in the hospital, just my first time in that one.

“I’m okay, Ryker,”I whisper and try to sign.