Chapter 12
Rose was home. I was on the couch, and she was in our bed, but she was home.
I stared at the shadows dancing across the ceiling, listening for any sound from the bedroom. A creak from the mattress, a shift of the sheets… anything to remind me that this wasn’t a dream, and I wasn’t alone.
But it was quiet.
Too quiet.
And I was alone.
I scrubbed a hand over my face and exhaled. She was here, and that had to mean something. She might not have been in my arms, but she was still in my life. Still wanted to be in our home. I’d take it as a win no matter how small it was.
I rolled over, holding onto the positive thoughts, determined to fall asleep.
Sleep never came.
The shadows turned into shapes that turned into memories.
The waves of the beach in New York where we recovered after a friend's wedding. I could still hear the water crashing into the shore, the seagulls flocking overhead, and Rose’s laugh when a dog ran from its owner and jumped right into Rose’s lap.
Then there were the spirals that reminded me of the poppers on New Year’s Eve.
Right after we celebrated with the family, we snuck off to the cellar of the winery and had our own celebration, which consisted of Rose pinned against the wall, her legs wrapped around my waist. I could remember the way she moaned and whimpered my name, the feel of her skin beneath my fingertips as I slipped them beneath her dress.
I stared at the shadows, the memories, until my eyes burned, until the silence wrapped around me so tightly I thought I’d suffocate.
I missed her.
Not just her body beside me, or her voice first thing in the morning, or even the way she’d jump in front of me for the coffee when I was always up first.
I missed us.
And as the morning light kissed the curtains, I closed my eyes. Not because I found peace, but because I was too fucking exhausted to continue chasing the ghosts of our past.
The rustling of sheets forced my eyes open not even a minute later. Footsteps padded across the bedroom floor, but they weren’t soft and slow like her usual morning gait; they were rushed as if…
Was she sick?
I sat up, legs swinging off the couch and planting on the floor. For a second, I hesitated and listened closely. The sound was unmistakable. I jumped to my feet and hurried to the door. Fuck propriety. Rose needed me.
Easing the door open, I peered my head in. “Rose?” I called out. “You okay?”
“Fine,” she said in a quick burst, a tinge of shock in her tone.
“You don’t sound fine.”
“I’m fine. Please, just—” Her plea got lost to a violent heave.
I pushed the door open and hurried to the bathroom. Rose sat on her knees, arms resting on the toilet seat, head cradled in the crook of her elbow. Her hair had fallen over her face, and I reached out, brushing the strands away from her eyes.
Her lid popped open, and she met my gaze.
“Hi,” I said with a smile.
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to.” I didn’t give her time to argue. I grabbed a clip from the drawer, pulled her hair back, and sat on the floor, rubbing soothing circles on her back.
“I never deserved you.” A tear slid down her cheek, and I caught it with my finger.
“You deserve everything, Rose. I’m the one who can’t give you it all.”
She turned her head, eyes glossy, lips trembling. “You’re giving me more right now than most people ever would.”
“I always have your back, Grasso.”
A breathy laugh escaped her, then she heaved, body contorted over the bowl. I didn’t move. Didn’t as much as flinch. I kept my hand on her back, continuing to soothe, continuing to be there in the only way I knew how.
Once the heaving stopped, Rose pushed from the toilet, her back against the tub. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it, Rosebud.”
Her eyes slipped shut, lip trembling, before she inhaled deeply, her chest rising and falling. “I need a shower.”
“And afterward, call the doctor. This isn’t just indigestion or heartburn.”
She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s probably just stress.”
“Possibly, but I’d feel a whole lot better if you got checked out. Just to make sure it’s nothing serious.”
“I’ll call them. Make an appointment.”
I raised an eyebrow at her, knowing damn well she was just saying it to pacify me.
“I will.” She laughed, and damn if I didn’t want to bottle that shit up and open it whenever I needed a little piece of joy.
“Good. Do you need anything? Water? Ginger tea?”
“Tea would be great.”
“Go shower, I’ll have it ready when you get out.”
Her teeth slid over her bottom lip, pulling it into her mouth and gnawing on it for a moment.
“You’re a good man, Wy. Too good. And I might not deserve you in my life right now, but I’m grateful all the same.”
“I told you, Grasso. I’m a weed. Try to get rid of me, and I’ll just keep coming back.” I had said that to her in the first week we started dating.
“At least you’re a pretty weed,” she said, just like she had all those years ago.
“Little older now,” I added. “Some wrinkles, seen some shit, but still here.” I nodded toward the shower. “Go clean yourself up.” With a wink, I closed the bathroom door and headed for the kitchen, immediately grabbing the teapot and filling it with water.
Then I tossed two pieces of toast into the toaster and made myself a cup of coffee.
By the time the tea was steeped, toast was on a plate on the table, and my coffee was more than halfway done, Rose stepped out of the bedroom.
Her wet hair was brushed back, revealing her fresh face, pink from the too-hot showers she loved so much.
The dusting of freckles on her nose was on full display as her eyes locked on the little spread I made her.
“Toast, too?” she asked.
“It’ll hopefully help settle your stomach.”
“Thanks.” She sat and picked up her Winnie the Pooh mug she’d had since she was twelve, and a slight smile curved her mouth.
It was the mug she always used when she was sick.
As if it reminded her of the comfort and care she’d received from her parents at that age.
Now I was the one who cared for her, carrying on their responsibility.
Except it never felt like a responsibility. I wanted to care for her.
“How’s your tea?” I asked.
“Perfect.” She took a tentative bite of her toast. She chewed slowly, moving the bite around her mouth and then swallowing. “Everyone knows.”
“Knows what?” I asked, taking the last sip of my coffee and pushing from the table to refill.
“About us.”
I placed my mug on the granite and turned to her, pressing my back against the counter. Words evaded me. We had broken up, but because no one had known, I thought maybe… we’d work it out and could act like this never happened.
Reality reached out and slapped me. Hard. I abandoned my mug, no longer craving another. I didn’t want caffeine. I’d rather be tired and depressed than hyper and depressed.
I sat down at the table and looked at Rose. “What do we do?”