“I know. But you’re also one of the strongest people I know.” Her eyes are starting to droop, exhaustion pulling at her. “Don’t push him away, Marnie.”
She’s asleep within minutes, her hand going slack in mine, breathing evening out into the rhythm I’ve become too familiar with lately.
I sit there for a while longer, watching her sleep, letting her words settle into the scared, angry parts of me.
Don’t push him away.
I’m pulling out my phone to text Roman when I hear footsteps in the hallway.
The door opens quietly and he’s there, still in his team sweats, hair disheveled like he’s been running his hands through it.
“Hey,” he says softly, hovering in the doorway. “Thought you might be here.”
“You should be icing your shoulder.”
“Already did. Twenty on, twenty off, just like my PT ordered.” He steps inside, glancing at Mom sleeping peacefully. “How is she?”
“Lucid for a bit. Gave me some mom advice.” I stand, suddenly exhausted. “Now she’s sleeping.”
“And you?” He’s watching me carefully. “How are you?”
“Tired. Scared. Sorry for walking out.”
“I’m sorry for being an insensitive ass about the hit.” He moves closer, mindful to keep his voice low. “You were right. I was defensive because I didn’t want to admit that it was a bad hit. Didn’t want to think about what that must have felt like for you to watch.”
“It felt like losing everything,” I admit quietly. “Which is ridiculous because you’re fine, but in that moment when you weren’t getting up, all I could think was that I’m already losing someone I love and I’m not sure I can handle losing someone else.”
The word slips out unplanned, hanging in the quiet room between us.
Roman’s eyes widen slightly, his breath catching.
“You don’t have to say anything,” I interrupt quickly, cheeks burning. “I didn’t mean to just blurt it out like that?—”
“I love you too,” he says, cutting through my embarrassed backpedaling.
I stare at him. “What?”
“I love you.” He says it more certainly this time, like he’s been waiting to say it. “Have for a while now. Wasn’t sure how to tell you, or if it was too soon, or if you felt the same way.”
“Oh.” It’s all I can manage, my brain struggling to process this shift in the middle of a hospice room at midnight.
His good hand comes up to cup my face. “So when your mom says you need to stop being scared and just love me anyway? I’m completely on board with that plan.”
I laugh and lean into him. “My mom’s a smart woman.”
“She is.” His thumb brushes my cheek. “And she’s right. Life’s too short to waste time being scared.”
I glance back at her sleeping form. “I should probably go. Let her rest.”
“Come home with me?” he asks. “I’ll even let you check my shoulder again. Make sure I iced it properly.”
“Such a hardship.”
“I’m very brave about it.”
I grab my coat and we slip out quietly, his good arm coming around my waist in the hallway, solid and warm and alive.
And for the first time since watching him hit those boards, I can finally breathe properly again.
