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Well, he didn’t have a job. And his old one had not been the kind you conversated to your wife about, anyway.
Not that she was his wife.
“—Daniel?”
“Sorry. What did you say?”
“Do you want me to call Gus for you? Or a nurse?”
Closing his eyes, he fought the urge to scream that he didn’t want anyone showing up in their bedroom unless they were on-site to fix the fucking Wi-Fi. He was so sick and fucking tired of—
“No,” he said evenly. “I’m fine.”
“Okay.” She took her cell phone out of the back pocket of her khaki trail pants. “My ringer’s on, all right?”
Her hair was loose around her shoulders, but that wasn’t going to last. She was going to pull it back, probably on the way into work. The blond streaks had really grown out at the crown of her head, the new longer length not a style, but more because she hadn’t had any time to get it properly cut. In her WSP-branded fleece and white turtleneck, she was outdoors professional, down to her Merrells.
“You taking an SUV?” Which was another stupid question. “I mean—”
“C.P. says she doesn’t mind.”
“I’m sorry you hit that deer.”
“It could have been much worse. And technically I swerved to avoid the buck. What I hit was a boulder.”
“Right, sorry. It was a while ago.” When her expression subtly shifted, he frowned. “What?”
“Nothing. It’s not important—”
“Tell me.” His voice was sterner than he’d intended. “Please.”
“It’s not important—”
“Lydia, at this point, there is so much unsaid between the pair of us, I’d really appreciate it if you’d just spit something out. Anything, really.”
She opened her mouth. Closed it. That agreement he’d made about revisiting the experimental drug for her wasn’t sitting well, and they both knew it. No matter how many times he told himself it was just a conversation, with a guy he trusted, who wasn’t forcing him in any particular direction? He still didn’t want to fucking do it.
Lydia cleared her throat. “I, ah, I totaled my car just last week. It wasn’t that long ago, in a calendar sense, I mean. But that doesn’t matter.”
“Oh.” He rubbed his scratchy eyes. “Right. I remember now. Well, I’m glad you were okay.”
What the fuck was he saying?
“Airbags are a miracle.” She looked down into her mug. Then put it forward. “I would offer you some, but your stomach…”
“It’s okay.”
“Do you need help to get to the bathroom?” She nodded over her shoulder, like she was thinking he might have forgotten where the facilities were. “Daniel?”
“No, I’m okay.”
His heart pounded in the silence. And when she started murmuring things about being late, he nodded and said things back to her, good, solid things, spoken in a good, solid voice, neither too direct nor too lax. A normal voice.
And then she was gone.
It took him a minute or two to realize shehadn’t kissed him goodbye. And that made him pull the sheets way up under his chin, like he was a five-year-old in a bad windstorm, trying to be brave.
Disgusted with himself, he shoved the sheets down to his hips. He was naked, although not to be sexy. He got the night sweats, and generally speaking, it was more efficient to just throw off the covers and let the cool air work directly on the maximum amount of surface area. Looking down at his chest and his abs, he was amazed at how smooth everything was, his previous muscularity gone, his torso now like someone had iced him with cream cheese frosting, the pale skin rising and falling in waves over his bone structure.
