The words hit like a slap. “What do you mean?”
“This,” he said, gesturing between us. “Us. You playing doctor. Me pretending not to hate needing your help.” His voice rose. “You think you can just take a leave of absence and suddenly everything’s fine? That it fixes what you did?”
My grip tightened on the steering wheel. “I’m trying to help you, Eli.”
“I don’t need a caretaker—I need my husband!”
The car filled with the sound of our jagged breaths. For a second, I thought about driving past the smoothie shop, going straight home, and letting the fight die there. But something inside me snapped—the exhaustion, the guilt, the desperate need to make himsee.
I turned into the drive-thru, rolling down the window. “This is our new normal,” I said, my voice shaking but firm. “Get used to it. Because I’m not going back to work anytime soon, and I’m going to hover and irritate the hell out of you until you’re better. And then we’re going to fix what I broke. And goddammit, we’re going to live happily ever after, just like we dreamed way back when.”
“Adrian—”
“I love you,” I said fiercely. “I’ve never stopped, and I never will. You’re mine, Eli, and we promised to do this life together, and I’m holding both of us to that promise.”
There wasa pause—a heartbeat, a breath—then the intercom crackled to life.
“Welcome toSmooth Operator,” a chipper voice sang. “Can I interest you in a Tropical Passion Explosion today?”
Eli blinked, caught somewhere between fury and disbelief.
I exhaled, dragging a hand over my face. “You know what,” I muttered, “yeah. Two. Large.”
Eli made a strangled noise beside me, somewhere between a scoff and a sob, and covered his face with his hands. His shoulders shook, not from pain this time but from something rawer, lighter.
I froze, unsure if he was crying or laughing. But then, a quiet, broken laugh bubbled out from behind his fingers.
“Oh my God,” he said, voice muffled. “ATropical Passion Explosion? Really, Adrian?”
The corners of my mouth twitched. “What? It felt… thematically appropriate.”
He dropped his hands and looked at me, eyes wet, cheeks blotched, and mouth caught between a smile and a grimace. “You’re such an idiot.”
“Yeah,” I said, my throat thick. “Your idiot.”
He let out another laugh that sounded suspiciously close to a sob. “God, we’re a mess.”
“Yeah,” I said softly. “A beautiful mess.”
The drive-thru window opened, and the teenager inside handed me two neon-colored cups that looked like tropical traffic cones. I passed one to Eli, our fingers brushing. It was brief, thrilling, and left me craving more.
He took it with a shaky hand, still smiling faintly. “You’re gonna give me diabetes before I can even walk right again.”
“Occupational hazard,” I said. “Doctor’s orders.”
He rolled his eyes, but the tension in his shoulders eased a fraction. Outside, the world looked unbearably ordinary. Sunlight glinted off windshields, cars moving through the line, life just… happening.
Inside the car, everything was still fragile, stitched together with smoothies, sugar, sarcasm, and a stubborn kind of love that refused to die.
As we pulled away, Eli sipped his drink and muttered, “It’s too sweet.”
“Yeah,” I said quietly, glancing at him. “That’s kind of the point.”
Chapter 27
Missed Steps
ELI
