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Once we’re inside, Ryker settles into his desk chair and leans back while Genevive tears through his apartment. He’s a bit pale from all the moving around, and his leg must be hurting like a bitch, which is something he’s clearly determined to hide, but I see the way he grits his teeth and closes his eyes just a tad too long to call it a blink every time he moves.
Eventually, Genevive and the assistant pack it up and get going, after they’ve completed two separate shopping trips to stock up on necessary items like anti-slip bathroom mats, a shower bench, and enough food that we’ll be able to withstand a few years of nuclear winter without having to forage for provisions.
“I’m in New York until the end of next week, and then I’ll be here to see you for a few days, okay?” she tells Ryker, followed by, “If there are any problems or anything you need, call me right away,” aimed in my direction.
And then, with a few more instructions and a kiss on Ryker’s cheek, she takes off, and we’re alone.
I hover in the doorway. I’m really not sure what to do or where to be now.
Ryker’s eyes are closed, and his knuckles are turning white from how hard he’s clutching the armrests.
“You can go now,” he eventually says.
I roll my eyes. Nice try.
“Do you want something to eat?” I go to the fridge to dig out one of Hayes’s mom’s casseroles.
“No,” he says. “You don’t have to stay here just because you said so to my mother. I can take care of myself.”
“I’m sure you can,” I say and stick the casserole into the oven.
He gets up and struggles with the crutches for a moment before he limps to the kitchen counter.
“I’m serious,” he grits out.
“Yeah, well. I’m staying.” I point at the oven. “Can you keep an eye on this while I grab a shower?”
He stares at me. “What?”
“The food, Ryk,” I say. “Keep an eye on it. I smell like hospital.” I head to the dresser and grab a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. “Do you mind if I borrow these?” I hold them up to him.
He blinks at me and frowns like he’s having trouble figuring out what’s happening.
“No?” he says after a few seconds.
“Thanks,” I say cheerfully and head to the bathroom. I close the door behind me, strip down, and get in the shower. I turn the water as hot as I can physically handle and let it beat down on my back until it starts to feel like I’ve washed the last week off me.
I pull on the shorts and T-shirt and get out. Ryker is still standing in the kitchen, leaning on his crutches. They didn’t put a cast on his leg, but he has to wear a brace for at least another week. Surprise, surprise, like seemingly everything else right now, he hates it.
He’s staring straight at me when I step out of the bathroom, a funny look on his face. Something between pain and longing, and if I could make it happen, I’d trade places with him in a heartbeat.
I head back to the dresser, pull out another set of clothes, and go to him.
“Come on,” I say. “You’ll feel better once you’ve had a shower and gotten some clean clothes on you.”
He looks conflicted for a moment, then lets out a harrumph and drags his battered body into the bathroom.
I follow him and stand in the doorway, leaning my shoulder against the jamb.
His eyes meet mine in the mirror.
“Yes?” he says pointedly.
“Can I watch?” I ask with a grin.
His cheeks flush and his mouth opens in a soft exhale. For a moment, everything’s glorious. Meet me halfway. Tease back. It’s us. It’s what we do.
I can see the words are there. I can see Ryker there. My Ryker.
