When she wakes, Hope blinks, sits up, reaches for water and squints at the neat pile of envelopes on the table. “What are you doing?”
“Paying bills.”
“Mine?”
I nod.
“Alek.” She sits straighter.
Too late now. “Don’t try to stop me, I already took care of them.”
The air changes.
“Allof them?”
“Yeah.”
She stares at me as if I’ve switched languages. “Why?”
“Because they were sitting there.” I shut the laptop. “You don’t need collections showing up while you’re trying to recover. It’ll ruin your credit score. I can easily help so I’m gonna help.”
Her face goes blank. I’ve learned enough over the past few weeks to know stillness from her usually means she’s not happy.
“You keep taking over my life and I don’t seem to have a say,” she mutters quietly.
I shake my head. “Hope, I’m not trying to interfere…”
“You paid my fuckingbills.” She throws her hands up.
“It isn’t a big deal.”
Hope grits her teeth. “Foryoumaybe. For me, it’s one more thing I’m beholden to you for.”
“No.” I step closer. “I understand you—”
“No, you don’t.” She holds her hand up in front of her. “You don’t seem to comprehend what it does to a woman, who prides herself on independence, by the way, to need assistance every second of the day. From a man she’s only known for weeks. You have no fucking clue what it’s like to learn they’ve taken it upon themselves to solve parts of your life you didn’t give them permission to interfere with.”
Hope isn’t yelling, but I almost wish she were.
“You seem like a genuine guy and you’re doing too fucking much.” She glares. “I should be grateful and Iamgrateful. I also don’t want to owe you everything.”
Her words hit square in the sternum.
“You don’t owe meanything,” I choke out, stunned.
Her eyes hold mine. “Easy for you to say.”
We stand there with too much unsaid between us.
Finally I drag a hand through my hair. “I didn’t do this so you’d have sex with me.”
“What? Alek…” Her expression flickers with hurt. Frustration. Maybe both.
“I did it because the idea of you walking out of here with debt on top of everything else made me feel sick.” I hate how exposed my voice sounds. I keep going anyway. “I see you look at every envelope with apprehension. You apologize every time I pay for groceries and takeout and rides. I know you.” I stop, correct it. “I knowenough.”
Her face softens a fraction.
“I’m not trying to own any part of you,” I swear solemnly. “I’m only trying to make the ground under your feet a little more solid so when you’re feeling better you have an easier path forward.”
