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Storming into the house, I throw my gym bag down on the floor. “Gavin Rorshack! Were you doing manual labor?”
His cranky rumble comes from the kitchen before I have a chance to pursue my tirade. “Chill out, Lena! I haven't been doing shit. I paid to have some of Clive’s guys come out and install it. All hush-hush.”
“Why?” Red flags shoot up, alarms in my head. “What happened?”
“There've been some… unwanted visitors snooping around.”
“Meaning you walked out to the trailer to check the surveillance gear?” My voice rises again. “Gavin, you are supposed to stay in bed.”
“It’s a short walk. And you’re not supposed to know about the trailer!”
“Don’t turn this around on me, mister!” I’m leaning over him, trying not to laugh at the look on his face, looking up over my cleavage. He’s losing the battle of maintaining eye contact.
“I was careful. I’m going insane here with nothing to do, Lena.”
“Be that as it may, you're not going to heal from your bullet wounds and get back to your dangerous job if you don't let yourself get better.”
The irony is not lost on either of us.
The smirk growing on his face nearly shatters my stern resolve as I stand glaring down at him with my hands on my hips. “What?”
“You’re something else, you know?”
“Don't start with that.”
“You're fucking sexy,” he drawls, resting his powerful hands on the dip of my love handles. “I love the way you fuss over me.”
“Don't start with that, either.” Because I'll lose my head completely and rip his stitches open by mounting him right here in the kitchen. That tension hasn’t let up between us at all.
If anything, it’s worse, but his injuries have kept things tame.
Alternately, almost every other night, I’ve snuck into his room, crawled into his bed to snuggle.
Neither of us has said a damn thing about it.
We snuggle. We sleep.
We get a little handsy.
It's perfect. And then in the morning, we move along and about our day, batteries fully recharged.
Like he’s reading my thoughts, Gavin’s brow knits together in a frown. “Are you… alright?” His tone drops low, serious.
“I’m great. Just tired.”
“I know that. Evan’s working you too hard, nothing new there. I meant…”
“Oh. That.” The other reason I keep crawling into bed with him. The nightmares. “They’re getting less horrifying.”
“Damn. I’m sorry, Hellena.” He pulls at me, settling me on his good leg. It’s sturdy, stable. Unshakable, like him.
“You have them, too.” I swallow, meeting his eyes. It’s not an accusation or judgment.
“Yeah. Too many.” Pain. So much pain.
“How do you live with them? The ghosts… the faces?” My voice is barely a whisper.
“Those ghosts almost always mean that someone else lived. It doesn’t make them go away. It doesn’t wash away the guilt. But it loosens the noose, lets me keep going.”
