Iris moved to the other side of the bed, then climbed in.
She slept on the left. He slept on the right. And the tension rested somewhere in between.
22
Finn
He didn’t even know how Henry found out about his back. But he woke up to half a dozen texts about a massage therapist and acupuncturist scheduled for later that morning.
The campaign trail didn’t stop for a busted back. And he and Iris had that damn late-night show to film that day.
He’d been hoping in those few, perfect moments after they’d both found their release, surrounded by sea, sand, and sky—all their walls and masks forgotten—that things had changed between them.
Until he felt her tense, felt the air shift with her.
Back were all her defenses, the anger he didn’t quite understand. All he knew was it was directed at him. That when she looked at him, there was something that not only bothered her but pissed her off, too.
He wanted to know what it was.
He wanted to tell her he would work on it, that he thought what was growing between them was worth fighting for.
The problem was, he’d spent his entire life since his parents passed pushing down his real feelings when they pushed up, covering them up with a smile and a quip and some surface-level charm.
He barely knew how to acknowledge his true feelings, let alone how to discuss them with someone else.
When he turned his head on the pillow, he found Iris turned toward him, her cheek resting on her hand. Her pale hair was spilled across the pillow, the morning light making it glow. The pretty pastel scales up near her scalp seemed a little more prominent in sleep.
He couldn’t seem to stop himself from reaching out to touch them.
But as his hand lifted, his back spasmed.
And he promptly slapped his hand right down on her face.
She came awake with a start, bleary-eyed and confused.
“I’m sorry. Iris, I’m so sorry,” he said. He pulled his arm back, no matter how much his back screamed at the motion.
Iris’s hand rose, rubbing her sore face.
“I was reaching out to … tuck your hair behind your ear,” he lied. “And my back seized up. My hand just fell.”
He didn’t know what he expected in response to that, but it wasn’t the way her eyes warmed and her lips tipped up.
“Not any better, huh?”
“Oh, it will be.”
“What do you mean?”
“Henry.”
“I’m sure Henry is great at a lot of things: making interns cry in the supply closet, memorizing weaknesses and weaponizing them, choking on his own smugness …” The bite of her words was softened a bit by the humor in her eyes. “But I’m pretty sure he’s not a doctor.”
“No. But we’ve been here before. Massage therapy and acupuncture usually help. If not, I can get a steroid injection that should provide some short-term relief. In extreme situations, magic will fix it temporarily.”
“Why can’t you just rest for one day? Do you really think your whole career will go up in smoke if you take a single day off to take care of yourself?”
It was a valid question.
