I don't go back to my room.
I can't.
The thought of lying in that bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying every single second of the last few hours—the fight, the fear, the blood, the kiss—it's too much.
I need to move. I need to think.
I need to get away from myself.
But I can't. I can't do that to Adrian.
Especially not after I fucking assaulted him.
The thought of him lying there in pain, because of me, is a fresh wave of nausea. So I'll just stay in my room, I guess. I'll be good.
I'll go to my room and just curl up in the fetal position and try to convince myself that Adrian's right. That is really was just the adrenaline and fear.
And not the fact that I want him so badly, it actually hurts.
Chapter Seventeen
Adrian
Morning comes too early.
Not because I slept through any of the night and wanted more of it.
Because I barely slept at all.
The room has gone from black to gray around the edges, the curtains catching the first weak light of morning, and I’m still exactly where Caterina left me.
Propped against too many pillows in a bed that isn’t mine, one hand resting near the bandage on my side, jaw tight enough that my teeth ache.
Pain kept me awake.
That’s the simple answer.
The wound burned all night in slow, mean pulses. Every breath pulled at the stitches. Every slight shift sent heat flaring through my side and into my ribs until I had to stop moving entirely and wait for it to settle.
Dr. Alfonsi was right about the hospital. He was right about imaging, observation, pain management, all the things I refused because hospitals are wide-open systems with too many people, too many entrances, too much paperwork, and not enough certainty.
So yes.
Pain kept me awake.
But pain, I know how to handle.
Pain is simple. It can be counted through, managed, compartmentalized. You breathe around it. You do not give it more importance than the mission.
Caterina Conti is not simple.
And I spent too much of the night thinking about her mouth.
That is the problem.
Not the whole problem, but the part I have the least patience for.
I stare at the ceiling and let out a slow breath through my nose, careful not to pull too deep.
