35. Rowan #2
Satisfied, Callie sets one bag on the rolling table and pulls out a container of soup. "Good. Then I brought food Serena approved after rejecting everything I wanted."
"What did you want?"
"Cheeseburgers."
My stomach rumbles. "That sounds medically appropriate."
"Serena said no." Callie sits in the chair Mom vacates and starts opening plastic utensils. "She also threatened to supervise me if I tried to smuggle fries."
Mom kisses my temple before leaving. She stops beside Erik long enough to touch his arm, then goes out without saying anything I can hear.
Callie waits until the door closes before looking at me. "You're not a project."
I blink. "That was abrupt."
"I've had four days to work on it." She hands me the soup.
I take it because arguing with both Serena and Callie seems inefficient. "What does that mean?"
"It means Mom isn't your project. I'm not your project. Dad's reputation isn't your project. Erik isn't your project." Callie points her spoon toward my abdomen. "Those three definitely aren't a project."
"They're technically an ongoing biological process."
Callie stares at me.
I eat a spoonful of soup. "Continue."
"You don't have to solve everybody before you're allowed to be scared." Her anger softens. "When they couldn't find you, I kept thinking about every time you fixed something for me. Tuition, housing, Mom, Dad's paperwork, or my scholarship. I don't know how to do that for you."
"You don't have to."
"That's the point." Callie leans back. "I can just be your sister."
I look down at the soup.
She reaches across the table and taps my wrist with one finger. "You're allowed to just be my sister too."
Callie stays until I finish half the soup, then leaves as Harper enters thirty seconds later carrying my phone, a charger, and no flowers.
"Thank you for not bringing something that requires maintenance."
"I considered balloons." She plugs my phone into the wall beside the bed. "Then I remembered who you are."
She looks exhausted. Her hair is pulled into a loose knot, and she's wearing yesterday's clothes under a borrowed jacket that looks suspiciously like Makari's.
I notice.
Harper catches me noticing. "No."
"I didn't say anything."
"You were going to."
I grin. "I'm learning restraint."
From his place near the window, Erik makes a quiet sound that may be a laugh.
Harper points at him. "You don't get to encourage her."
"I wasn't."
"Good." She sits beside me and gives me the short version of everything happening outside the room.
Evelyn is in custody. Rahil has counsel and is talking.
The outside prosecutor has already begun separating island evidence from the university channels that buried Aaron's death.
Peter is with Liya, going through the recovered drive.
Makari has been outside my room for most of the afternoon while coordinating statements.
"He won't come in?" I ask.
Harper looks toward the door. "He says there are too many people in here already."
"That sounds like him."
"He also has a broken hand and refuses to admit it hurts."
I wince in sympathy. "That also sounds like him."
Harper's mouth twitches. "I told him he was being dramatic."
"You said that to Makari?"
"He told me I was difficult."
"That's practically courtship."
Harper gives me a warning look, but she's smiling when she stands. She leans down and hugs me carefully. "I'm really glad you're obnoxious enough to be here."
"I love you too."
"I didn't say that."
I snort. "You implied it."
She leaves before I can make it worse.
By evening, the room is finally quiet.
Erik has spent most of the day giving everyone else space while never actually leaving. After Harper goes, he moves the visitor chair closer to my bed, takes off his watch, and puts it beside my phone. He's changed out of the black shirt from the island, but he still looks as tired as I feel.
I watch him settle into the chair. "I hid the pregnancy because I was afraid."
He stops adjusting the cuff of his clean shirt and looks at me.
"Not because I thought you didn't love me. I knew you'd protect me and the babies the second you found out."
Erik leans forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, but he doesn't interrupt.
"I didn't know whether protection would become another locked door. I needed to know whether you could give three children a childhood outside the war you grew up in."
His attention stays on me. "If you'd asked me directly, I would've said yes."
"I know."
Understanding crosses his face before I have to explain the rest. "That's why you didn't ask."
I nod. "I needed to see what you did when you didn't know what answer I wanted."
Erik looks down for a moment, then back at me. "You did."
"I did. The way I went about getting the answer was terrible. I should've told you sooner."
"Yes."
I give him a look.
His mouth curves slightly. "You want me to lie?"
"No."
"Then yes. You should have."
"I spent weeks furious every time you withheld something because you thought you knew what I could handle, then I did the same thing to you."
"You were afraid."
"So were you."
Erik considers that for a moment. "That doesn't excuse what I did."
"No." I shift against the pillows until my bruised shoulder stops complaining. "It doesn't excuse me either."
He reaches toward my hand, then stops before touching me.
The hesitation catches me harder than an apology could.
I turn my palm up.
Erik takes it.
"I made protection feel like confinement," he says. "I kept treating my intention as if it mattered more than what it was like for you."
I close my fingers around his. "You're better at it now."
"Marginally."
"Don't get arrogant."
"That seems unlikely tonight."
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it, and my ribs make me regret it. Erik immediately starts to rise.
I tighten my hold on his hand. "Sit down."
"You're hurt."
"I laughed."
"You winced."
"I've been doing that all day."
He lowers himself back into the chair, visibly dissatisfied with my medical reasoning.
I look at him until the humor fades. "When I asked whether our future could ever be safe enough, I wasn't telling you there wasn't one."
"I know that now." His thumb moves once over the side of my hand. "You were asking whether I could make one."
"Yes."
"I'm sorry I didn't understand the question."
"I'm sorry I didn't trust you enough to explain why I needed the answer."
Erik shakes his head. "You trusted me with your life repeatedly."
"Sometimes involuntarily."
"That's not the reassurance you think it is."
I smile despite myself.
He looks at me for a long moment. "I love you."
My eyes sting again. "I love you too."
The door opens before either of us can make the moment more complicated.
Serena comes in carrying discharge papers and a clipboard.
She looks at our joined hands, then at me.
"You can leave tonight if you want. Reduced activity, no training, no lifting, no unnecessary stairs, fluids, regular meals, and repeat imaging in forty-eight hours.
Somebody stays with you tonight because of the head injury, and because I don't trust you not to decide feeling better means you're recovered. "
"That last part sounds personal."
"It is."
Erik starts to speak, then catches himself.
I notice.
Serena definitely notices.
He looks at me instead. "Where do you want to recover?"
The question matters more than it should.
Mom's house would be familiar. Harper would let me take over her apartment and complain only when I reorganized something. The penthouse exists, but I don't want glass and elevators tonight.
I think about the estate, the place where Aaron died and the house Erik started changing before either of us knew what those changes might mean.
"With you."
Erik doesn't move for a second.
"At the estate," I add. "If the gate works this time."
He laughs, and Serena shakes her head while writing something on the discharge sheet.
I settle against the pillow and look at Erik. "Ask me again when we get there."
His amusement softens. "About what?"
"What I want the house to become."