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She considered the usual lie. I’m fine. Decided against it. “Like something scraped out the inside of my skull.”
“Yeah. You look like it.”
She almost laughed. “Charming.”
“You want water?”
“Please.”
He filled a glass in the bathroom and brought it back. She tried to sit up, and the room swam. His hand was behind her back before she could hide it, steady and warm, easing her upright.
She drank the whole glass, watching him the whole time. Her head throbbed but the pain was manageable. The medication had done its work overnight.
Then he refilled the glass without being asked and set it on the nightstand.
“You’ve been here all night,” she said. Since saying nothing wasn’t an option.
“Yeah.”
She didn’t know what to say to that. Thank you felt insufficient. I’m sorry felt wrong. Why didn’t you leave sat too close to an answer she was afraid of.
Hope I wasn’t too heavy?
“You didn’t have to stay.” Seemed least crazy.
“I know.”
He sat back down. He didn’t explain why he’d stayed, and she wanted to push but didn’t. The fact of it was there between them, a little weird. But mostly solid and comforting.
Then her stomach cramped. She knew this part. After a bad migraine, her body needed food within the first hour or the nausea would come back worse. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up carefully. The room tilted, steadied, held.
Ryder was on his feet the second she stood, but he didn’t reach for her. Just watched. Letting her decide whether she could do this on her own.
She walked to the small kitchen and opened a cabinet. Eggs. She could manage eggs. She could feel him behind her, close enough to catch her if her legs decided to quit again.
She’d pulled out a pan and was reaching for the carton when his hand closed over hers on the handle.
“Sit down.”
“I can make—”
“Cassie. Sit down.”
His hand was warm. She looked at it for a second longer than she needed to, then let go of the pan.
She sat at the small table and watched him cook.
He moved around her kitchen without asking where anything was. Found the eggs, found a spatula in the second drawer he tried, found the salt. He cracked eggs into the pan one-handed and adjusted the heat, and she wondered how many mornings he’d done this for himself in whatever apartment he went home to when he wasn’t on a mission.
She watched the way he moved. Efficient, unhurried, the same steadiness she’d seen from him all week, whether he was sparring or studying salt shakers or carrying her across a compound in the dark.
He was a man who knew how to show up.
He set a plate in front of her. Eggs, toast he’d made from bread found in a bag on the counter, coffee he’d made while the eggs cooked. He sat down across the table with his own cup.
“Eat,” he said.
She ate. The food helped immediately. Her stomach settled, the weight behind her eyes started to ease, and by the time she’d finished the toast, her hands had completely stopped shaking.
