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“Goldie?”
I stiffen again, but force myself to take a breath.
Roman. Just Roman.
Rolling onto my back, I tug the blanket down enough to look at him. He’s crouched by the bed, his eyes as wide as Oli’s, but there’s no pity there. Just concern and fear and love.
So much love.
“You okay, baby?” he whispers, his hands tightly gripping the comforter as if to hold himself back. I nod, my throat too raw and tight to speak. “Do you need anything? Water? I can make you something to eat—”
“I’m okay,” I croak, and he freezes. His eyes lift to Oli’s, tears filling them in an instant. There’s the pain again.
I see it in the way his brows bunch together and his jaw tenses, like he’s trying to hold back a sob. The way his Adam’s apple bobs as if he’s swallowing repeatedly. The wild thundering of his pulse right next to the angel wing tattoo that wraps around his throat.
So much.
He’s feeling so much.
And I…
I feel nothing.
It takes that moment to realize he hasn’t heard me speak in days. He’s been by my side for a week, and I haven’t said a word to him. I’ve barely been conscious enough to know he’s been taking care of me.
“I’m okay, Ro,” I say again, wanting to sound stronger than I feel. Wanting to be strong for him, for Oli.
“You’re okay,” he repeats, still looking shocked. “You don’t need anything?” I shake my head and watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows again. Nodding, he pushes to his feet. “I’ll be in the living room if you need me. It’s right down the hall—”
“She knows where the living room is,” Oli snaps, and I flick my gaze to hers. “She’s sad, not stupid.” My eyes shift between them, waiting for a fight, but he just dips his chin in a slight nod.
“I know that,” he mutters, looking at me. “I just—I’ll be here, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”
I nod, still staring at him as the words sink in. He’s not going anywhere. But what if he does? What if when I go looking for him, he’s gone?
My throat burns around the word but I force it out. “Promise?”
His face shudders and then softens as he slowly raises his pinky to the space between us. My hand shakes but I bring it up and latch my finger with his. A promise, a vow, just like the one he made me all those years ago at my mom’s funeral.
I’ll be by your side.
I’m not leaving.
And maybe, maybe he never did. Maybe he never will.
“I pinky promise, baby,” he rasps, kissing the tip of my finger—just the smallest press of his lips. His eyes meet mine and I see the tear beading on his lashes. He quickly sets my hand back on my pillow and steps back.
I watch as he retreats from the room, and I roll back toward Oli, my gut clenching repeatedly with the force of keeping everything buried down.
“You didn’t have to say that,” I mumble. She shrugs, not apologetic in the least. She’s not mean, but she’s protective. She’s loyal. I know she was just trying to help.
I force air into my lungs as I think about her earlier question. I thought Roman would’ve told her what happened. Maybe he didn’t want to talk about it. Maybe he wanted me to be the one to share my story, if and when I was ready.
I don’t really know why I start talking, why I tell her everything. I don’t know how I tell her—not without crying. I don’t know how she can still stand to touch me while I tell her what happened, what Isaac stole from me.
But when I’m done, tears are streaming down her face. Her cheeks are blotchy and her grip on my hand is almost painful. She just stares at me—she stares at me like she’s in shock, like she can’t believe Isaac could do something so awful.
I can’t believe it either, and I think that’s what I’m still struggling to accept. That the man I thought I loved, the man who took my mother and I in when my father died, the man who practically raised me, could do that to me. I always thought he was a good man. He had his issues, but everyone does, right?
