“Makes perfect sense. You were teaching those kids. Had that blue jacket on. Hair in a ponytail. You smiled at one of them and I thought—” I lose the thread. Grab it back. “I thought I’d do anything to have you smile at me like that.”
She’s quiet with her jaw tight and eyes on the road.
“Said yes to Toronto just to be near you. Didn’t care about fake dating. Just wanted any excuse. Any reason to—to—” The thought slips away like water through my fingers. “What was I saying?”
“Toronto.”
“Right.” Everything’s getting fuzzy again, soft around the edges. “Loved that trip. Loved watching you be yourself. No walls. Just you. My favorite version of you. I love all the versions. Even the mean one. Especially the mean one.”
We pull into my building. She parks and comes around to help me out. I lean on her heavily with my coordination shot to hell.
Inside the elevator, I rest my head against the wall and close my eyes. Feel her hand on my arm keeping me steady.
“Gonna be okay,” I mumble. “We’re gonna be okay.”
She doesn’t answer.
My apartment feels different with her in it again. Right, like something that was missing has clicked back into place.
She sits me on the couch and gets me water and pain meds. I take them without complaint even though swallowing hurts.
“Let’s get you changed.”
She helps me to the bedroom, out of my clothes and into sweatpants. I should be embarrassed, needing help getting dressed like a child, but I’m not. Because it’s her. Because her hands are gentle and she’s here.
“Bed,” she says softly.
I climb in and immediately reach for her. “Stay.”
“I’m staying. I have to wake you up every two hours.”
“No.” I tug her hand. “Here. With me. In the bed.”
She hesitates. I can see the war on her face. Want versus hurt, anger versus worry.
Want wins.
She climbs in next to me, staying on top of the covers. But when I pull her closer, she doesn’t resist. Just lets me tuck her against my side, lets me bury my face in her hair and breathe her in.
“Missed you,” I mumble into her hair. “Missed you so fucking much.”
“I missed you too.”
“Don’t leave again.”
“I won’t. Not tonight.”
Not tonight. I want forever.
But I can’t say it because my eyes are already closing with the pain meds and the concussion and the exhaustion pulling me under.
“Promise?” I manage.
“I promise. Sleep now.”
So I do.
She wakes me at midnight.
