Some of that contentment faded, because deep down, if I was brave enough to admit it to myself, I wasn’t ready for him to leave.
Chapter 11
Liam
By the timenight settled in, the house had gone quiet. Bobbi’s mom had come to get her a while ago, and I’d spent the time since making sure all the possible loose ends I could tie up were tied.
I checked the lock on the back door again because I needed to. Deadbolt seated. Handle solid. Window latched. My brain eased half a step.
Zoey watched me from the couch with that expression she used when she was deciding whether to argue or let me have the win.
“You already checked that,” she said.
“Yes, I know.”
She let that sit for a second, then she pushed herself up carefully, stubborn even with the crutches. “I’m officially past the danger window, right?”
“According to the doctor.”
“So, I’m allowed to sleep. By myself, even.”
“Yes.”
She narrowed her gaze. “And you’re not going to wake me every two hours and ask me what year it is?”
“No.”
She nodded, looking relieved.
I moved through the room, gathering what she would need for the night. Water on the nightstand. Medication lined up in order. Phone charging within reach. I kept my hands busy because stopping meant thinking too much.
“You don’t have to do that,” she said.
“I know.” That answer always irritated her, but it was true. There was just something about Zoey that made me want to protect, to care.
I helped her stand. She leaned into me for balance before she remembered she didn’t want to. Her hand pressed against my chest for one second longer than necessary. I didn’t move. Didn’t make it something bigger.
By the time she settled on her bed, her shoulders had finally dropped.
Then she looked up sharply.
“Wait,” she said. “Do you expect to spend the night again?”
I laughed in surprise. “No.”
Her posture changed. Something unclenched. Something else tightened. I caught both happening.
“I’m heading home,” I said. “I’ll come back in the morning to check on you.”
She frowned. “Oh.” The word sounded flat, too flat. Her mouth pressed thin and she looked down at her hands. “That didn’t come out right.”
I put my hands in my pockets.
“I just meant…” she continued, propping her crutch against the bedframe, buying herself time. “You’ve been here for over twenty-four hours. You don’t have to keep… hovering.”
Hovering?
“I don’t expect you to,” she added quickly. “Come back. I mean. I’m not assuming anything.”
