Page 447

I smile. “I know.”

His eyes close.

I kiss him.

And when his eyes open, he smiles.

I could get used to that.

55

ROMAN

Callie is a terrible patient.

“Stop.”

Her hand freezes halfway toward the coffee table. “I wasn't doing anything.”

“You were reaching for your coffee.”

“Yes. That's generally how drinking coffee works.”

I pick up the mug and hand it to her.

Callie stares at it. Then at me. “I could've done that.”

“I know.”

“You're aware my arms still work?”

“One of them is injured.”

She rolls her eyes. “My shoulder is bruised.”

“Your shoulder is fucked.”

“The doctor specifically said it wasn't fucked.”

“The doctor said nothing was broken.”

“Which feels like the medical version of not fucked.”

I stare at her.

She takes a drink, completely unbothered.

We're back at my rental.

Except nothing about it feels like mine anymore.

Callie's curled against the corner of my couch, wearing one of my T-shirts and the sweatpants Violet brought to the hospital. A blanket covers her legs, even though she complained when I put it there.

Alibi is pressed against her uninjured side. He hasn't willingly moved more than three feet away from her since Smoke brought him into the hospital room.

I understand the feeling.

A pharmacy bag sits on the kitchen counter. Three bottles of medication lined up beside it. Discharge paperwork I've read twice.