“Roman, what?—”
“I can’t sleep.”
“That’s not my problem.”
“Your mom didn’t recognize you.”
Her face crumbles slightly before she controls it. “That’s also not your problem.”
“Let me in.”
“We can’t?—”
“I know we can’t. Let me in anyway.”
She steps aside.
Her room is identical to mine except for the medical files scattered on the bed, her phone charging on the nightstand showing three unread texts from Teresa.
“Bad night?” I ask.
“Mom’s asking for my dad. He’s been dead for fifteen years.” She sits on the bed, pulls her knees to her chest. “Teresa says it’s normal. The brain shutting down, memories getting scrambled. Normal.”
I sit beside her, careful to leave space between us.
“None of this is normal.”
“No.”
“The team lost again.”
“I noticed.”
“Three straight. We haven’t lost three straight in two years.”
“They’ll figure it out.”
“Not without me.”
She looks at me. “That’s arrogant.”
“Yeah, but it’s also honest.”
We sit in silence for a moment. Then she shifts closer, just slightly. Not touching, but the space between us feels charged.
“Why are you really here?” she asks quietly.
“Because you’ve been crying alone and that’s not okay.”
She turns toward me fully, and there’s something in her expression that makes my breath catch.
“Roman, I wish?—”
I kiss her.
Not soft, not careful. Just need and want and fuck all the reasons we shouldn’t.
She kisses back immediately, climbing into my lap with an urgency that matches mine, hands in my hair, pulling me closer.
