Laughing, he leaves the wreckage of my shop and stops just on the other side while I move to catch up. My breathing has returned to normal, or at least as normal as one can breathe with two still-healing broken ribs. Movements have gotten easier, too, which has been nice. I no longer groan when I get up in the morning.
But I still feel useless.
Because of the current state of my physical well-being, there has to always be someone else around to keep Anastasia safe. Zane and Tessa are living in her guest room, and on the days when they’re busy or he’s working on his house, Garrison, Weston, or Ryker are present.
All because I’m too broken to protect the one thing that matters most to me.
Square up, Maddox. I have to fight the urge to roll my eyes at my own internal thoughts. Man, I’m whining so much I’m annoying even myself these days.
Part of my frustration is that there is always someone around. Even as grateful as I am that everyone is taking Anastasia’s safety so seriously, I’m desperate to be alone with her. To have a casual movie night with my best friend, complete with dinner, popcorn, and her falling asleep halfway through.
Which, of course, I recognize as completely selfish given the only reason we have constant supervision is because someone is trying to kill her.
“I’ll make that call,” Weston says as we start toward the back door of the coffee shop.
“Thanks.”
“No problem. I’ve got some business at the ranch today, but I’ll check in with you tonight.” He veers toward his truck while I continue into the coffee shop. I’m just pulling the door open when Anastasia is starting up the stairs toward her apartment.
She stops and looks at me, eyes wide, until she realizes it’s me and not some stranger. Then she crosses her arms, and that surprise turns to irritation. “You are supposed to be resting.”
“I was out for a walk. Sunshine and all. Keeps me cheery.” But nothing about my mood is cheery.
And Anastasia notices.
She uncrosses her arms and walks over toward me, stopping right as I flip the lock on the closed door behind me. “Are you okay?”
“People keep asking me that.”
“Hey, same here.”
“Then I’ll make you a deal. You stop asking me if I’m okay, and I’ll try to remember to do the same.”
She smiles. “Deal.” She gently pats my chest with the hand not currently in a cast. “I was coming up to see if you wanted lunch. Hungry?”
“Starved.”
“Great. Then come on, I will make us both a sandwich.” She starts up the stairs, and I follow, each step making me wish I could pull her into my arms at the top—both of my arms.
That kiss last week is still lingering in my mind, sneaking up at every possible opportunity to torment and remind me that I’ve yet to make good on my promise to try it again with more lung capacity.
But I really want to wait until the right moment. Preferably when I have use of both of my arms. And there is no chance anyone will come in and spoil the moment.
“Turkey and cheese all right?” Anastasia asks after unlocking her apartment door and moving into the kitchen.
“Yeah. I can help.” I don’t wait for her permission before I’m stepping into the kitchen with her.
As she pulls out the bread, I start taking the sandwich fixings out of the refrigerator and setting them on top of the counter.
“So what’s the verdict about your shop?” she asks. Her tone is casual, but the weight is there. “Will you rebuild?”
I stop and turn toward her. “I’m not going anywhere else.”
Relief floods her expression. “I know it’s silly, but I worried that since it’s gone, you might want to—well… I just didn’t want you to leave.”
“Anastasia, I’m not going anywhere.”
“Things have just been weird. Right? Or am I imagining it? I’m probably imagining it.”
