“Not me.”
She lifted a single brow, giving me a look that already had me wanting to back down.
“Rule number four.” I pointed to her raised brow. “No eyebrow voodoo magic.”
She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I’m not letting you wreck your body over pride.”
“It’s not pride.”
She gave me a look.
“Okay, it’s eighty percent pride,” I admitted.
“Great. And the other twenty?”
“Boundaries,” I said quietly.
Her expression softened for half a second, so fast I barely caught it. “We’ll have boundaries,” she said. “We already made rules, didn’t we?”
My throat felt tight. I glanced at the couch again. Laughably small. My feet would hang off by a mile. My back would scream at me by morning. Training would tank. Everything I’d fought for … gone.
I’d married someone for swimming. At this point, sharing a bed was just another line item on the list.
I exhaled. “Fine.”
Her brows shot up. “Fine?”
“Fine,” I repeated, hating and accepting it at the same time.
She nodded once, sharp and businesslike. “Good. Because I’m putting a pillow wall between us.”
I shrugged. “Great.”
“It will be a tall wall.”
“Fantastic.”
“And you stay on your side.”
“That was the plan.”
“Okay, then.”
Awkward silence hung in the room.
I set my bag by the dresser and started unpacking. Roxie did the same, her movements efficient, precise, deliberate—typical Roxie. The only time she slowed was when she placed her framed photo of her and Livvi on the dresser. I didn’t miss the way she lingered on it.
We avoided looking at each other.
Roxie finished unpacking first, closing her dresser drawer with a soft thud. “I’m going to shower,” she said, voice carefully neutral.
“Okay.” I cleared my throat. “Yeah. Go ahead.”
She grabbed a pair of sleep shorts and an oversized T-shirt and slipped into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.
The moment it clicked closed, I braced my hands on the dresser and let out a long breath.
This was happening.
