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Tears burn at the backs of my eyes, but I don't let them fall. Somehow, I've kept them at bay since Roman broke down in the ambulance, but I don't know how much longer that's going to last. Without Tahani here to distract me, I feel like I'm hanging on by a thread.
Why won't they let Roman back here with me? Is he in trouble for killing Guerrero?
I shy away from the memory of Roman killing Guerrero, afraid that if I think too deeply, I'll make myself sick worrying about what comes next. Roman did what he had to do…because I couldn't resist telling Guerrero that he would never win. Because I couldn't keep my mouth shut, he shot me, and then Roman had to shoot him.
That reminder makes me feel microscopic.
"You have a visitor," Amanda says.
My gaze flies to the door. As soon as I see Roman standing there, his hands in his pockets and his expression a mixture of worry, regret, and relief, the pressure in my chest loosens. A shudder runs through me.
Those damn tears well in my eyes.
He looks like he's been through hell. His hair is a wild mess, with sand still clinging to it. His beautiful eyes are dark and shadowed. The cut under his right eye has been cleaned up and covered with two little butterfly bandages. The bruises on his jaw are dark purple and brutal to look at. Someone got him a shirt since I last saw him, but his jeans are still stained with blood and sand.
My heart rate climbs, and butterflies kick into flight in my stomach when he paces toward me. My small white room feels a hell of a lot smaller suddenly. He's overwhelming and beautiful, and if he touches me, I'm going to fall apart.
"Hi," he whispers, lowering his big body into the chair Tahani pulled up beside the bed.
"Hi," I whisper back.
His probing gaze rolls over me, studying me like he always does. Those hazel eyes linger on the bandages over my shoulder and the smaller one around my arm from the fire. They linger again on the IV and the various wires hooking me up to different machines. When his eyes meet mine again, a cloud of guilt and shame passes through his gaze and he exhales a shaky breath.
"I'm okay," I reassure him, hating that look on his face. Even worse is the tortured groan that breaks from his lips as soon as I say the words.
A shudder runs through him, and he dips his head, hiding those eyes from me.
"Can you give us a minute?" I ask Amanda, not taking my eyes off Roman.
"Sure, hon." She shifts around and then, out of the corner of my eye, I see her leaving the room. The door closes behind her with a soft click.
"Roman," I whisper when he still doesn't look up at me. The tears I've been fighting for the last several hours spill over. A whimper escapes me before I can fight it back.
He looks at me then, his head snapping up and his eyes locking on mine. The self-loathing in his expression has the tears falling faster down my face.
"Mila, baby," he groans, and then, somehow, I'm in his lap. He holds me close, his arms gentle around me.
I burrow my face into his throat and cry. His body shakes beneath mine, and I think he's crying again too.
"I'm so sorry, Mila. I'm so fucking sorry, baby," he whispers, his voice raw with emotion.
"It's my fault," I mumble into his skin, too ashamed to face him when he's falling apart because of me. Because I couldn't keep my mouth shut and walk away from Guerrero when we had the chance.
His body turns to steel beneath me. He shifts me around, moving carefully until his eyes meet mine. The fire there steals my breath.
"Don't ever say that again," he growls. The pain and anger in his gaze holds me captive, making it hard to breathe through the lump they put in my throat. "Nothing was your fault. Not a fucking thing."
"I–" I snap my mouth closed, speechless at the pure iron seething in his tone. The same steals across his face, turning it into a thundercloud.
"It's my fault you were out there," he says. "I never should have let him get near you. I never should have taken you to Los Angeles in the first place."
My heart drops, and my stomach sinks at his words. Does he regret being with me?
"W-what are you saying?" I whisper, suddenly terrified that he's trying to talk his way out of my life.
"I'm a selfish bastard," he mutters, another wave of self-loathing rolling through his eyes. "I never should have touched you, but I couldn't stop myself. I've been crazy for you for so fucking long, I had to have you. And once I had you, I couldn't let you go. You're like a drug, Mila. As soon as I had you the first time, I knew I'd fucking kill to keep you. But I never should have taken you. You deserve so much better than me."
"Roman–" I try to protest, but he's not done talking.
