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He kissed me to stop me, and it was the softest gentlest kiss. So sweet, it stole my breath and made me tremble. His deep voice rumbled over my skin. “Thank you, Bridget. I do need to hear it. I guess you might say I’m needy. Fuck, who am I kidding? I am. When it comes to you, I am so, so, so needy.”
He punctuated the words with nibbling kisses up my neck. I wrapped my arms around him. “You’ve been up for days. Come to bed.”
“Only if you do. I need to hear you breathing. It’s…my favorite sound in the world. When you’re breathing next to me.”
Snoring, I thought with a smile. I could do that for him.
* * *
The soundof the treadmill reached me as I typed on my computer the next day. Michael was running. Again. He’d been doing it off and on all day. I leaned back in my chair, tapping a pen against my lip.He is going to hurt himself if he keeps this up.
Not that I would stop him. I put the pen down and rolled my shoulders and neck to release tension. I recognized his hyperfocus on his research, since it seemed similar to when I worked on a pattern. I couldn’t speak about other things. We hadn’t faced that part of me together yet. I had to assume that he’d be okay with it. He seemed to be good about most things, when it came to me.
Was anyone ever so lucky?
I sent my sisters a text.
I’m okay. The guy I killed was going to kill me. Stephen’s going to live. Michael keeps running on the treadmill. He’s thinking really hard, and I don’t want to distract him. I love you. I tell you that, right? I’m not always that good about remembering to say it.
It took a few moments, but they both texted me back.
Hope:I love you. Let him run. It’s probably better than other things he could be doing.
Layla:You have no idea how much I love you. Can’t do without you, Bridget. If Michael is running, he must be really working something out.Give him time.
They were right. I should leave him to focus. Meanwhile, I could take stock of the kitchen situation. We needed groceries, and I had to believe it was safe enough for me to go to the store soon. Or to order groceries. What did we have that I could cook for dinner? If anything, unless it expired?
I learned the hard way once not to eat expired food. It wasn’t worth the risk.
I scowled and thought about the fact I shouldn’t have had to learn so many things via the fuck around and find out method. It wasn’t like I’d had anyone to tell me those things, with my mother gone and my father absent, after all. I’d had to figure out a lot on my own in college.
I abruptly stopped upon entering the kitchen. A cupcake waited on a plate in the middle of the granite countertop. And not just any cupcake—exactly my favorite kind of cupcake, with pink icing smothered over vanilla cake. Yes, it was girly, but I’d loved it my whole life. It was what I ordered every year on my birthday, no matter where in the world I might be.
I loved the simplicity of it.Let Hope have all the fancy desserts.I’d eat that cupcake any day of the week.Leave it to Michael to know it.
On a napkin in front of the plate, I saw my name scrawled in marker, lest I wonder if it was for me. Were we labeling food now? I smiled, shook my head, and took a bite. It was delicious. When did he get me a cupcake? Who knew? I’d gotten lost staring at the market for a while—maybe he’d left and come back? Although, probably he would have told me if he left…
Michael came out of the gym, sweaty and mopping his forehead with a towel. The view was kind of amazing, maybe more so than the cupcake. I smiled at him and leaned back against the counter. “Who did you get to bring you this? It’s my favorite thing. So good.” I took the last bite.
He stared at me. “Bring you what?”
“Oh, don’t be coy. The cupcake you bought me. It was delicious.” Although maybe I’d eaten it too fast, because my stomach panged.
“What cupcake, Bridget?” He walked over to me. “I didn’t leave you a cupcake.”
I pointed at the empty plate and the note. “Then who left me the cupcake?”
The pain hit. Hard. I doubled over, gripping my stomach.Something is wrong.
“Okay,” he was saying. He said it several times.Okay. Okay. Okay. “Sit down. On the floor now. Look at me. I don’t know what’s happening. Maybe you’ve been poisoned. Look at me, Bridget Radford. This is going to be okay.”
He sort of blurred out, which was okay because the pain in my gut was so bad that I started to puke. Right then.
That was the last thing I remembered.
I heard the beeps and recognized the hospital—we spent enough time in them lately.Guess it was my turn.The thought crossed my mind as I roused to the sounds of pumps and beeps and whooshing. My lids felt heavy, and my throat burned like it was on fire.
Michael stared out the window, but I must have made a noise, because he turned around, his face serious. He was too far away for me to touch, and when I extended my hand to him, he didn’t take it.What is going on?I couldn’t ask. My throat hurt too much.
