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My wife gapes up at me with those deep-blue eyes that are floundering between life and death.
Like a shadow of her former self.
“Hey,” I say with as much softness as I can muster.
“Hey,” she mutters back, a shine gathering in her eyelids as they gradually clear. “You came.”
“Of course.”
“I think I had a panic attack.”
“Did you take your meds?”
She frantically searches in her spilled bag, and some makeup products fall out before she produces her bottle of pills and hands it over.
“I took two. Swallowed them dry.”
“Good girl.” I stroke her cheek, sliding my fingers to her throat and pressing on that steady pulse point.
She leans into my touch, her lips dropping open before she sucks the bottom one between her teeth.
My gaze follows the motion and my dick definitely takes notice, failing—as usual—to read the damn situation.
She releases her lip and pushes it forward in a small pout. “You yelled at me. I didn’t like it.”
“Won’t happen again.”
“Thanks. I had fun with Aunt Elsa today and the dinner with Uncle Aiden went well.”
“Good.”
“She sent you food.”
“I see.”
“It’s actually for me, but I’ll share.”
“I’m grateful.”
“Lan came back and he was talking shit as usual.”
“It’d be shocking if he wasn’t.”
“He could use being brought down a peg or two.”
“I’ll arrange it.”
Her lips twitch in the tiniest smile and I release a long exhale. It’s her.
My wife is back.
I release her throat, but only so I can guide her out of the car. But she insists on picking up all the things that fell out of her bag and the food containers.
“Hey, Leo.” She waves at him as she places the containers in the passenger seat. “Be careful with these, please.”
He nods.
“I’ll strap them in just in case.”
