“Sorry. I don’t want to wake him. I just told Callum I’d stop by and see if there’s anything else he needs.”
At that, the still body on the bed grunts.
His mom glares at him, but waves at hand at me. “Come in and sit...”
“Penelope.”
Her eyes light up. “You’re the famous Penelope. Tate hasn’t shut up about you for weeks.”
My whole body gets hot, and I’m pretty sure I’m sweating.
“And he’s not asleep.” She looks at him in the bed, sorrow seeping into her features. “He’s sulking.”
“Ha! I mean, it’ll be nice to get some peace and quiet for a change.” I cover my mouth as soon as the words are out, but her eyes light up again, and she’s shaking with laughter.
A low growl rumbles from the bed.
Huh. So he is awake.
“Oh, shut up, Satan. Let us enjoy this precious moment where you can’t talk.”
His mom’s practically rolling on the floor laughing. I drop the duffel bag at her feet and circle the bed. He’s got a dressing on one side of his face. I wish I’d done some reading on the internetto prepare me, or to at least have educated me on what he’s gone through, is going through.
I crouch down to his level, his beautiful, sad, gray-green eyes staring back at me under unruly dark hair. “Sulking isn’t a good look for you, Satan.” I sweep his hair off his forehead, letting my fingers continue their journey behind his ear to the nape of his neck before placing the softest kiss on his temple.
“Though I kinda love that you can’t snark back at me.” I wink at him. “The quiet is pretty blissful.”
He stays quiet, glowering at me.
“I suppose I could declare a truce.”
Another grunt.
I stroke his forehead again, and his eyes flicker shut.
“Do you want me to leave?”
A tear slips out from his eye, winds its way down his face, and lands on the pillow as he shakes his head.
“Scared?”
Another head shake.
“Frustrated?”
He nods.
“I figured. You already had your surgery, and now it’s time to recover. That’s a lot of sitting on your ass and doing nothing.” I pause. “Aren’t you used to that by now?”
His mom covers her mouth and looks away like she’s afraid he’ll bust her laughing at my poor jokes again.
His eyes snap open, and fire flickers in them. I point at him. “There, see? You’re all riled up and ready to fight. You’ve just got to be patient.”
His face is swollen, and I bet there’s a gnarly scar behind the dressings. He’s probably upset that his pretty face is as marred by this moment as his career is. He looks so fucking sad.
I drag a seat closer to his bedside and take his hand. He tries to pull it away at first, but when I take it back and glare at him, he gives in.
“I’m being nice here, Satan. Enjoy it while it lasts. And remember, your beloved car is unsupervised while you’re in here.”
