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“This is us,” she giggles. “Isn’t that a TV show?”
She clasps my hand and tugs me toward the short hall. Back in the bedroom, I grab a sweatshirt for her and an undershirt for myself. She props pillows up against the headboard. When we’re sitting with our backs against them, she pulls my arm into her lap and traces the veins from my elbow to my wrist. I close my eyes and lean more heavily against the pillows. She strokes my fingers, and I curl them.
“Does that hurt?”
“Yes.” I spread my fingers back out for her. Every time she touches me, it hurts—because I know it has to end soon.
“I never want to hurt you again.” She sounds so earnest.
I smile with a shake of my head. “You will never get that wish, la mia rosa.”
“I can’t stand to think of you without me.”
I catch her hand with mine, squeezing.
“I want you to be okay,” she whispers.
“I’m okay.” I open my eyes, finding hers. “Don’t worry about me.” I smooth her hair back, and she shuts her eyes. I can’t help putting an arm around her, pulling her against my chest, inhaling her sweet perfume.
“Can we still keep running?” she asks softly.
“I think you should stop the running.”
“Can we see each other somewhere, sometimes?”
“Where?” I kiss her forehead. “Where would be safe? Rosa, put yourself first. You worked hard to get where you are. Put it first. You said you like it.”
“I don’t like this.” Her voice quavers, and I hug her—maybe too hard.
“I tried to make you go this morning.”
“Yes, but I could feel it.”
“Feel what?” I hold my breath, knowing she’ll say something else that hurts us both.
“How you’re the same.”
“I already told you I’m not the same.”
“You are the same. You’re my cuore, with a lot more scars. It makes me sad that you’re alone.” She sniffles, and I ruffle her hair, forcing a laugh. “I’m not alone.”
“Who’s with you?”
“Dogs.”
She shakes her head. “You said they’re fosters.”
“So I’ll keep one.”
“But it has to be the perfect dog. To replace me.” Her lips flutter over my cheek.
“There’s a lot of good dogs. Dogs are awesome. You should get a dog, too. Are you lonely, rosa?”
“I work a lot, and my friends come over.”
“What about Jace?” I try not to let my voice go too low on the question.
“He comes maybe twice a week. We watch TV. Sometimes he brings dinner.”
“That’s good.” I’m surprised to find I mean it. “Tell him I said hello.”
“I’m not telling Jace a damn thing.” She laughs. “He’d lose his mind.”
I nod slowly. I can’t be offended; it makes sense. I’d feel the same way if I were her gay fake fiancé.
“He’s just scared about me getting hurt.”
I lean on my arm, shifting so the sore spot on my back won’t hurt as much. “I understand.”
She kisses my jaw. “You want to watch E.T., or just keep talking?”21Elise“Either way.” His voice is low and soft. He doesn’t look pained, but I wonder if that fresh scar he has is hurting—because he keeps shifting around, tensing sometimes when he moves.
“What’s the matter?”
“My back. But it’s fine.”
“Where does it hurt?”
He looks down.
“What happened? Can I ask that?”
“You can.” He gives me a strained smile.
“Can you tell me?”
He smiles tiredly again.
I need to find another way to ask my question—one that won’t incriminate him. “What made the wound?”
He bites on his lower lip, his dark brows gathering as if he’s thinking. “A bullet…filled with something acidic.”
Wow. Can that be legal? Of course not, I answer myself. “So it still hurts?”
“It’s okay.” He pats the pillow behind my back. “Relax. It’s an old TV, but I’ve got a remote in the nightstand.” He leans over, opening the drawer and plucking out a small, gray remote before I can offer to do it for him. When he leans back against the pillows, I rest my cheek against his chest, and he wraps a heavy arm around me.
He kisses my hair. “Love this smell.”
“It’s called Midnight Eden.”
“Midnight Eden…” He inhales. “I used to think it smelled like gold.”
I sniff his chest. “What’s your scent?”
“Soap. Shampoo. Maybe my shaving cream…which I should use tonight.”
“Don’t use it. I want you to leave me scruff-burned.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.” He kisses my hair. “Not even your skin.” He sounds tired, his voice dropping an octave.
“Are you sleepy?”
“No way. I’d never miss this.”
“So…that means you want me here?” I’m partway teasing, but his brows arch and his lips part, like he’s troubled. “That wasn’t the problem,” he says, somber.
“Oh, I know. I was just kidding.”
He takes a few hard, shallow breaths, as if he’s struggling to fill his lungs.
“You okay?”
He won’t look at me.
I stroke his cheeks and his eyes shut. “It’s…hard to be so close to you.”
I press my palm against his chest, below his throat.
