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"You're welcome, Ms. Lawson," Molly says. "We'll see you next Thursday. Have a good evening."
"You too," I mumble.
The line beeps when the call ends, but I hold the phone to my ear for another moment, trying to forestall the conversation I know is coming. I'm a little afraid that he's going to freak out on me again.
"Interview?" he asks, pacing toward me. His voice is quiet…intense.
"Yes," I whisper and reluctantly drop my phone to the bed beside me. I try to push myself into a sitting position, only to whimper when another wave of pain hits me.
Roman moves like he's going to help me, so I push through it. If I feel his hands on me, I may start crying again.
Despite my best efforts, I only manage to slide a little higher up in the bed. It's not exactly a sitting position, but at least I'm not flat on my back anymore with him towering over me.
He mutters something that sounds a lot like he's calling me a stubborn pain in the ass and then pops the top off the bottle of pills and shakes two out into his hand before holding them out to me.
"What are they?" I ask, staring at them like they might bite me.
"Aleve," he says. "I know you never take anything stronger than that."
How does he know that?
"How do you know that?" I ask. I've never liked the way pain medication makes me feel. I'd rather be in pain than feel like a cracked out zombie. Still, I don't know how he knows. It's not something I remember telling him. I don't know why I'm surprised, though. He hears everything I say. I think he always has.
He doesn't answer me, so I reluctantly take the pills from him. He twists the cap off the water and holds it out as well. I pop the pills into my mouth and then take a drink to push them down my throat. The water soothes a little of the ache in my throat, so I take another big drink before holding the bottle out to him again.
"Thank you," I whisper.
"Where is the job?" He carefully sets the water and pill bottle on the bedside table. His expression is tense, his lips set in a thin, disapproving line.
"Berkeley." I bite my lip, quelling the urge to begin rambling off an apology for not telling him sooner about the Triton Agency being located in Los Angeles. Anything I could say wouldn't help. Not with that look on his face. Still, I feel like I need to say something because I should have told him sooner. "Roman, I–"
"You should hold out for the job in Los Angeles," he blurts.
My gaze flies back to his. He looks nervous as his gaze rolls over me. I know he's nervous when he rakes a hand through his hair.
My heart aches a little at seeing that uncertain look on his face again. I'm afraid to ask him what has him so worried. I'm afraid to hope, too, but a little sliver of it begins growing in my chest anyway, pushing out some of the chill I've felt since he stormed off this morning.
He lowers himself to the bed beside me, being careful not to jostle me. He sits so close to me, his body is right up against mine. Yet again, I find myself fighting the urge to lean into him. He's so big and warm…I always feel safe with him, like nothing bad can happen if I'm in his arms.
"You scared me today," he whispers, tilting his head to look at me. "When I saw you at the bottom of the stairs, I thought…" He shakes his head, expelling a heavy breath. Pain washes through his expression in a flood that breaks me wide open. "I thought I'd never get to fix what I fucked up this morning. I thought you were dead."
"I'm okay," I tell him, my heart fracturing. He sounds so fucking sad, looks so repentant…I can't stay away from him anymore. I lean into him, biting my lip to mute a whimper when my rib and head both throb.
"You're not okay," he growls immediately, but his arms close around me anyway.
Very gently, he moves me around until I'm lying down again, my face pressed into his chest with one of his arms around me. Even with as careful as he is, moving still hurts like hell.
By the time he has me positioned, I feel a little like fainting, and he's muttering a string of expletives beneath his breath.
"I'll be okay," I mumble, burrowing even deeper into him. His body is rock solid, but he's comfortable and warm and smells so good. My eyes grow heavy as I listen to the steady thrum of his heart. I'm so tired.
"Yeah, you will be." His lips settle against my crown and linger there. "You're a fucking warrior, Mila."
"Did you mean it?"
He doesn't ask what I mean. He knows.
"Yeah," he whispers into my hair, "I meant it."
