It's not difficult for me to recall what my life was like before meeting Ana. Aside from living an incredibly lonely existence, I was fucking miserable and searching for something to exorcise the monotony. My weekdays were spent in the world of mergers and acquisitions, running my empire, always the master of my universe. Nobody questioned me or challenged me; they didn't dare. I went home to my sterile apartment that lacked personality and devised increasingly intense scenes for whichever submissive I had contracted for that time period because I was just plain fucking bored. Apart from that, my time was spent kickboxing, exercising, working, and wondering when my life had ceased to hold any real interest for me. Occasionally I attended a benefit or fundraiser either for work or my family's interests, but I always left as soon as possible. During the odd times that I had time off, I would sail or soar. Always alone; never sharing my experiences or interests with another person; never considering that I might one day discover true happiness, because I was the last person in the world who deserved it.
My nights were carefully constructed to avoid nightmares. Either I'd work myself into exhaustion or I'd drink myself there, and if I was lucky, I wouldn't find myself sitting straight up in the middle of my bed in the dead of night covered in sweat and fucking terrified. Only children have nightmares. And I am undoubtedly as far from being a child as it's possible to be.
I've always been so desperately grateful that Ana came into my life when she did, because she broke that miserable pattern of my life. I tried to tell her dozens of times, but I never thought words could ever be enough to for her to truly know what it means to me. And now that I've so thoroughly fucked up the one good thing about my life, I'll never get that chance.
Nearly a week has passed since I last saw Ana sitting in her bed, stoned to the gills with painkillers, but fully conscious of what was happening. The hurt and confusion in her eyes has imprinted on my brain and now it's all I can see. Just as I always believed, without her in my life, everything else has ceased to matter. I sit behind my desk at Grey House for ten to twelve hours a day hardly knowing what I'm doing or who's talking to me. I silently sit at the breakfast bar every evening and play with whatever food Gail has prepared for me. I ignore phone calls from my parents and siblings, knowing they'll all have their own opinions about what has happened between Ana and me.
The only time I've ever actually focused on anything has been when Taylor informed me that Leila has been located. Until then, we didn't have positive confirmation that Leila was the one to attack Ana; only the word of eyewitnesses. Aside from being the only person any of us could think of to match the description, we could have been dead wrong. As it turns out, we weren't. Leila was found here in Seattle a few days after the shooting. Dead. Self-inflicted gunshot wound. The theory is that she realized she actually shot Ana, whether she meant to or not, then took off to some shit motel and put a bullet in her own head. I should feel something about that news—satisfaction that the person who hurt Ana is no longer on the streets; sadness that whatever was going on in Leila's head brought her to such things; guilt knowing that I'm just as responsible for Leila's problems as I am Ana's. But there is nothing.
My security team is keeping a much closer than normal eye on me lately and I don't give enough of a shit to tell them to back the fuck off. John Flynn has "dropped by" half a dozen or more times claiming concern because I've been cancelling our appointments. Those calls and visits have finally stopped, thankfully.
All I do is sit in my home office, staring at the walls that once held an array of portraits of Ana that I bought from José Rodriguez last year in Portland. I had to take them down a few days back and set them aside because every time I looked at them, I alternately felt depressed and angry to the point of violence. The solution to all my problems is incredibly simple and—I glance at the clock on my computer—she is being released from the hospital any minute now. I should be there with her, listening to all the instructions from the doctors about her care, helping her through physical therapy, and making all the preparations for her to come home with me. But no; I'm sitting here like the fucking dick that I am feeling sorry for myself.
By now, Ana has probably realized that what I did is for the best. Now she can recover without my overbearing, overprotective, asshole nature. I'm sure Kate is relieved; she's wanted me out of her best friend's life almost since the day we met and now she's got exactly that. If I give this enough time, I know Ana will move on, forget about me, and eventually find someone who actually deserves her in his life. And it will cause me unrivaled fury when that day comes, but I'll know she's better off.
"You know what hurt most about what you did?"
I freeze, not looking up from where my face is in my hands, my elbows on my knees as I stare at the floor, hardly daring to believe I'm hearing that voice right here, right now. I hold my breath, listening as she takes a couple of steps into the room.
"After all the times we've told each other that what we want to be together and that we love each other, and how you asked me to help you not ruin this now that we've got it back, you don't even give me the fucking option to fight back." Through the pain caused both by me and her injury, I can hear the anger that I know has had days to fester. "You're not the only one in this, Christian, and you don't get to make all the decisions."
Very slowly, I lift my head, forcing myself to turn towards her. She's beautiful as always, but this has clearly taken a toll on her. She looks exhausted and weak and in so much pain that all I want to do is hold her until she feels better. But the look on her face right now keeps me pinned to my chair. I can't even speak.
"I have spent every minute since you walked out on me waiting for you to come back, because the Christian Grey I know and love more than anything in the entire world would never just let me sit in that hospital room and suffer. He would have overanalyzed everything from my meals to my pain medication to the doctors that examine me to standing over me to make sure I'm getting enough sleep. He would feel guilty for what happened to me, but he wouldn't have let it keep him from me. And that is what I needed this last week. I needed you, Christian, my best friend in the fucking world to support me." Somehow she's made it across the room to sink into a chair and despite every emotion on her face, most of which aren't positive, I cannot look away from her. "When you left me, I thought you might take a day, maybe two at the most, but you'd be back, because you always come back for me, Christian. I have been so afraid and angry and upset, and I have no idea how to deal with any of this. And you're normally so good at helping me sort through things, but now, you're the fucking cause.
"You sit here all on your own, staring at the walls, hating yourself because you think you're this terrible burden on everyone who has ever met you. I thought you'd managed to get past all of that or at least that you were dealing with it. But you haven't, have you? One really bad thing happens and the man I thought would see me through absolutely anything is gone.
"Do you remember the day we met, Christian?" she asks, her voice soft as she holds my eyes. "Even through that intimidating, intense façade, I could see there was something else below the surface. I was so happy when you started to let me in. I was confused, because why the hell should you have wasted any of your time on me, but happy and eager to really know you. I know how you want people to see you and I understand why—you're protecting yourself, and I don't blame you for that—but I know the real you. I know the Christian Grey who is passionate about what he does and his need to feed the world. The fun, loving man who has shown me so much I never would have seen without him. Do you even realize how different you are now than you were a year ago? You are someone I thought I could count on no matter the circumstances, someone who would be there for me whatever I needed. Someone who put up with my immature bullshit without a second thought. I never in a million years thought it was even possible for you to let me down the way you have recently. But you know what? It makes no difference to me. I still wake up every morning thinking about you. I go to sleep thinking about you. You are on my mind constantly. And the real kicker, Christian, the one thing that could hurt me worse than any gunshot wound or drugged drink is the fact that I know no matter what I do, where I go, I will do it and go there loving you. And because I love you, I would forgive you for anything you ever did to me—including this. But you're the one who walked away this time and I'm left behind wondering if any of it was even real."
There is a very tiny part of me that is screaming that this is my chance to get her started on the life she deserves. All I have to do is tell her it wasn't real, that I can't love her and it was all only an act to get her into my bed. I could just break her heart completely and she will never want to see me again.
But I can't do it. Maybe it's my selfishness or maybe my need for her goes way beyond my understanding. Or maybe I simply love her too much to hurt her any further. Now that she's here in front of me, pouring her heart out to me, I know I've made the biggest fucking mistake in my life.
"Ana," I whisper, my voice breaking, "I am so sorry."
A tear slips from her eye and I'm now in physical pain of my own because I'm holding back from jumping this fucking desk and wiping that tear away. "I really don't know how much more you want from me," she whispers. "Christian, I don't think I have any more to give."
"You've given me everything," I say, my voice growing stronger. "And I have given you nothing more than pain. You can argue all you want, but nothing you say will ever convince me that this is what you deserve." I push myself to my feet and walk around my desk, watching her wary eyes watching me until I'm kneeling before her, though I don't touch her. "And you're right about everything, Anastasia. You're always right. I am afraid—fuck that, I'm absolutely paralyzed with terror at the thought that something could happen to you—"
"Something has already happened!" she exclaims, gesturing to her injured arm in the sling held against her chest. "You have to decide if what we have is worth overcoming that terror. I'm scared, too, Christian, but I'm more scared about dealing with this shit without you."
"Ana, what we have is worth everything," I whisper, carefully reaching out to touch just her knees with my fingertips and for the first time in days, I feel alive again. "Seeing you like this is torture, but right now it is a torture I deserve for putting you through this. Just before you got here, I was thinking about how much I've changed since we met and how much better off I've been because of you. You have told me over and over it's the same for you and I never believed it. I should have been with you this whole time; I should have been there for you. I wasn't and that is something I have to live with. I'm too afraid of seeing you hurt, but you're here telling me I'm making everything worse by staying away. Of course what we have is real, Ana. There are not enough words in any language to explain how much I love you. You are my world; you are the reason I wake up in the morning. I can't even look at pictures of you because it hurts so much."
She rolls her eyes, choking out a laugh through her tears. "You know, for a man who is so convinced he doesn't have a heart, you're coming off very hearts and flowers right now," she teases.
I crack a smile and just like that we're on solid ground again. We're not fixed by any means, but I know there is no fucking way I'm letting her walk away from me right now. "You came all the way here to say that to me?" I ask, resting my hands on her thighs.
She nods, though I can see her eyes beginning to haze over; her painkillers are probably wearing off by now and she'll need to eat before taking another dose. "I did actually," she answers with a wince, confirming my theory. "Taylor and Sawyer were in on it; the second I mentioned I wanted to see you, they couldn't get me here fast enough."
I snort a laugh. I'm sure they're desperate to see their usual asshole boss back to replace the miserable, moping bastard who's been here for days. "Well, since you're here, you should eat something. When's the last time you took your medication?"
Ana grins as I climb to my feet. "There's my Christian," she says quietly, looking up at me. "I knew he'd be back."
"Well," I say seriously, helping her stand, "I think we both know how impossible it is for him to stay away from you. It was only a matter of time, really."
"Was it?" she asks just as seriously. "Because I was starting to think you might be really gone this time."
Sighing heavily, I rest my forehead against hers. "I'm so fucking sorry, Ana," I whisper to her, desperate to make her understand.
She nods, but averts her eyes. "I know," she whispers back. It's not forgiveness or the end of the discussion, but at least she accepts what I'm saying to her.
We stand like that for a while before I remember that she is injured and needs to be fed. "Come, Anastasia. You should eat." I want to take her into my arms but aside from being afraid of hurting her more, I'm not sure she'd let me right now, so I simply wrap an arm around her waist and lead her out of the office towards the kitchen. We both raise an eyebrow at the sight of her belongings sitting neatly in the great room beside the couch. Sawyer and Taylor are both waiting in the wings, watching our movements covertly.
"I take it you're staying, then?" I ask hopefully, my lips twisting into a smile.
Ana bites her lip, looking shy and uncertain. "I wasn't sure how this would go," she admits reluctantly. "I thought maybe we'd talk a bit, but if you were really set in your ways about this..."
I hold her chin between my thumb and forefinger. "I want you to stay," I tell her firmly. "If you do, of course. I think what I needed was for you to come here and talk some sense into me." I glance at my security personnel. "Take the evening off, gentlemen. Gail as well."
Neither of them hesitates to make their way to wherever they go after work and in the kitchen, Gail is quickly arranging two plates, promising to be out of our way momentarily. She places a glass of juice beside Ana's plate and looks as though she might cry as she glances between the two of us. She's acting just like my mother does when I talk to her about Ana. Once we're alone and Ana is carefully settled in a chair, I get her bottles of painkillers from her bag and set two pills beside her glass, sitting beside her as she begins to eat. Neither of us speaks, but when I see her having trouble maneuvering her fork around a bowl of pasta with only one hand, I wordlessly help her and to my surprise she doesn't object. To my further surprise, she asks for seconds once her bowl is clean. I suspect it's a side effect of lousy hospital food, her recent mood, and the painkillers.
An hour later, she's falling asleep in her chair. "Come on, baby, let's get you into bed."
Entering my bedroom seems to wake her up. "Um, right," she says, her voice high-pitched. "I'll just get changed..."
Then to my surprise, she disappears into the bathroom, only stopping to grab her bag with her pajamas, slamming the door closed behind her. "Ana?" I call, standing at the door and wondering if I should go in after her. "Do you need help?" I can only imagine her difficultly getting dressed with one arm. At the thought, I wonder who's been helping her dress every day at the hospital, then decide it's probably best that I don't think about that too hard.
"No, Christian, I can handle getting dressed," she says, sounding so much like herself that I grin and turn away to change into my own pajamas, completely forgetting that just a couple hours ago my life was beyond pointless. I occupy myself with wondering if Ana will be comfortable sharing a bed with me or if she'll prefer sleeping alone. I could deal either way, but I seriously doubt I'll go all night without sneaking into whatever room where she's sleeping and just watch her for a while. On the few occasions I've watched her sleeping, she's told me it's a little creepy, but I know her expressions well enough to know she's not as bothered by it as some women would be. And when—
I bolt out of my closet when I hear her cry of pain. "Ana!" I yell, reaching the bathroom door. Of course, she's fucking locked it. I'm panicking now; I don't know what's happened to her. Has she fallen and hurt herself? Has someone broken in, maybe hidden in the bathroom and attacked her? I'm prepared to break down the bathroom door to get to her, but she opens it herself and backs away enough for me to enter.
I hardly notice that she's shirtless and braless as I scan the room for some unknown attacker, but finally realize that Ana is resting against the bathroom counter, biting her lip against pain while one of her hands covers the bandage over her wound. A closer look shows blood seeping through.
"Oh, Christ, Ana," I breathe, glancing at the counter to find it littered with bandages and medical tape. "Let me..." I close the distance between us, slowly reaching for a corner of the dressing.
She jerks away. "I'm fine," she snaps. "I'm sorry if I scared you, but I can do this."
"Like hell you can," I argue. "Ana, you could barely hold a fork during dinner; how do you expect to do this one-handed?"
"I don't need your help with every fucking thing, Christian!"
I could yell back, really get things between us back to normal, but then I realize there is something else going on aside from her sometimes frustrating need to be so fucking independent. She's looking between me and her mirror image, directly at the wound, and I suddenly understand exactly what's happening. "Let me see, Ana," I say softly, cautiously approaching her so as to not scare her off. "I won't hurt you; you know that." At least not physically... We both know emotionally is another story altogether.
She shakes her head jerkily, not meeting my eyes. "No."
"Why?"
Finally, she looks at me and the sadness is gone, replaced with resignation. "Because this is why you left me," she whispers. "I don't want you to see it."
I was right. And there is no end to what a prick I am. "I'm not leaving you again, Anastasia," I say quietly, firmly. "You can try to kick me out of your life, try to tell me you don't need me, but I'm not going anywhere ever again. And it doesn't matter to me what is under that bandage; you will still be the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. So please, Ana, let me see; let me help you and make up for everything I've put you through."
She stares at me with huge blue eyes so full of uncertainty, hurt, and fear, but beneath all that I can see the things that really matter right now—need and love. I tend to forget with all my issues that I'm not the only one who needs reassurance that they can and deserve to be loved. Recalling my conversation with Ray at the hospital, I suddenly understand what he was saying; whatever happened with Ana and her mother's third husband really messed up her confidence and probably gave her a hundred more issues that haven't even been discovered yet.
"Unless you've forgotten," I say quietly, closing some more of the distance between us. Her eyes widen further, though now I'm uncertain whether it's because of fear or lust. "You are not the only one in this room who has been damaged, Anastasia." I step back just enough to remove my shirt and her eyes immediately find the scars on my chest. "I know what it feels like to be afraid of somebody seeing the real person behind the scars. And I know that damage goes far beyond just the physical. What I don't think you realize—or maybe you do and just need a reminder—is that you repaired my damage." I reach down for her right hand, not hesitating to press it firmly against my chest, right above my heart. It still amazes me how easy it's become that I can allow her to do this when before somebody's touch to this extent would have inspired violence in me.
"Please, Ana," I whisper pleadingly, "let me return the favor. Let me take care of you."
I wait patiently while she thinks, knowing that pushing her into this will only end badly for both of us. Finally, she lets out a shuddering breath and nods. She's still afraid, but now she's willing to face that fear. With a smile that I hope is reassuring, I very carefully reach for her bandage again, gently pulling away the tape while checking that she's still okay as her wound is revealed to me. I'm not sure what I expected. All my life, my parents have been vehemently anti-gun. Grace has seen a few too many gunshot victims in her career as a doctor and Carrick has dealt with the legal ramifications. From what I was told about Ana's wound, a part of me thought the skin beneath the bandage would be completely torn up, but while it does look horrible and painful, I can't deny it doesn't look nearly as bad as I thought it might. The area around the wound is inflamed and bright red, and bruises have formed all along her collarbone, shoulder, and down towards her breasts. Stitches hold the actual injury closed, but she's aggravated it enough that it's bleeding through.
For a time, I just study her, swallowing a painful lump in my throat at the realization of how badly she must be hurting. From the moment I first saw her, I saw her as perfection personified. The night I saw her naked for the first time, I remember thinking I must have dreamed her up, because surely no one could have such beautiful skin. Oh, she had a few small scars that she told me came from a clumsy childhood. But nothing like this. It doesn't matter to me, though; this is just another part of her and she's still my beautiful girl.
It's only when she starts to shuffle on her feet that I realize my hesitation is making her think that seeing this changes how I feel about her regardless of my words.
"Oh Ana," I breathe, leaning forward to kiss her briefly. "You will never know how sorry I am that this has happened to you." Her eyes remain closed from my kiss as I pull back, reaching for something to soak up the little bit of blood on her shoulder. Once that is done, I dispose of the old bandages and wordlessly replace them, aware of every wince and hiss of pain coming from her.
"There," I whisper when I finish. "How's that?"
She rolls her shoulder slightly, nodding. "It's good," she whispers back. "Thank you."
"Anything for you," I murmur. "Stay here." I leave her in the bathroom and go in search of a shirt she can wear without having to move her arm too much. After dressing her, I carefully put her sling back on and lead her back into the bathroom. "If you want, I can sleep elsewhere tonight..."
She shakes her head. "No," she whispers. "Stay with me?"
"Always," I promise her. It takes us a few minutes to get comfortable in bed, finally we settle with her back against my chest, one of my arms stretched out so she can rest her head on it and the other draped around her hips, just below the sling.
She murmurs something unintelligible, but that I think contains my name and an I love you. I grin against her hair. "I love you, too, Ana," I whisper as we both drift off to sleep. "More than you'll ever know."
I wake suddenly sometime in the night, staring at the ceiling above me as I try to regain my bearings. The events of last evening are still present in my mind, but they feel so surreal that I can't decide if I dreamed them or not. It doesn't really help matters that when I look to my side, I find I'm the only one in my bed, so of course it had to be a dream. How else would Ana have been here after what I did and said the things she did, forgiving me?
Something is off, though, and my eyes find her duffel bag across the room near the bathroom and I suck in a sharp breath, knowing it wasn't a dream. But if it wasn't a dream, where is Ana? I panic for a second, wondering if perhaps she slipped out of the apartment while I slept. Even though Taylor and Sawyer were given the night off, I know damn well they would be monitoring the cameras to see if anyone comes or goes, and they never would have let Ana just leave.
Sliding out of bed, I make my way out of the room. It's possible she woke and wanted a drink or needed a painkiller and she didn't want to bother me. We'll be having a talk about just as soon as we iron out the other, much more important shit between us. I almost laugh with relief when I enter the great room and find her sitting on the piano bench looking out the window at the Seattle night sky. This is certainly a reversal of roles. I'm fairly certain I'm normally the one who sits in that spot in the middle of the night waking up Ana with my absence. I do note that she prefers staring out the window than actually playing the piano. I've tried teaching her a few times, but she could never get her fingers to cooperate with her brain enough to actually make music. I clearly remember her adorable frustration when she announced she'd rather listen to music than play it.
Unable to merely stand here and watch any longer, I quietly pad across the room and sit down behind her, straddling the bench. She doesn't move or speak which tells me she knows I've been watching her. I could ask her what's wrong or if there is anything I could do to help her sleep, but I keep quiet, getting the impression she's trying to think through dozens of things right now.
"I was scared," she eventually whispers, still staring outside. I slide closer to her, reaching around to rest my hands on her upper thighs as she leans back against my chest; it's probably not the best idea, but I can't stand being this close to her and not touch her. "I heard the knock on my apartment door and I was so certain it was you even though you said you'd text when you left work. I know I should have looked through the peephole, but I was really eager to see you." I may not be able to see her face, but I can practically feel the heat from her blush. I could make a dozen or more comments, but now is not the time for that. "Anyway, as soon as I opened the door, she pushed her way inside. I didn't know who she was at first; she seemed familiar, but I couldn't make the connection because she looked so much different than she did in..." She trails off and I fill in the blanks. Leila didn't look anything like she did in the photos Ana received via email a few weeks back.
"Anyway, I thought maybe she was looking for drugs or money or something. But then she started talking about you, saying it was because of me you never gave her a chance and that she could be everything I could and more, because she was willing to do all the things I wasn't. She was calm at first and seemed relatively clearheaded. For a while, I thought I could just talk her down and it was working, but then my phone buzzed and we both saw it at the same time—it was the text message you sent—and she just..." She shrugs her uninjured shoulder. "She snapped. I couldn't get out of the apartment because she was blocking the door, so I ran to my room and grabbed my old cell phone to call the police. She was right behind me and I heard my bedroom door slam open, a loud crack, and then nothing.
"I was scared, not because of what she might do to me, but because of what might happen to you if you'd walked into the apartment. What if you showed up and she shot you? That would have killed me because I have been taught how to fight and disarm an attacker, but I couldn't disarm her. If she hurt you before I could stop her, you would have been hurt."
I'm frozen in place again as what Ana says sinks in. She had everything under control until I sent her a simple, three word text message—on my way—that was the catalyst that got her hurt.
She sighs. "I'm not telling you this so you'll start blaming yourself again," she says softly, rolling her head back on my shoulder. I can't resist the urge to press my lips against her ear, grinning when she shivers at my touch. "I just want you to know I'm just as worried about something happening to you as you are about me." She hesitates. "What did you think when you found me in my room?"
I close my eyes tightly, really not wanting to relive those memories now that Ana is in my arms again, but I also don't want to deny her anything after what I put her through. "I walked into your apartment," I begin in a low voice, "and called for you, but you didn't respond. I went to your bedroom and saw your shoe sticking out from behind the bed, and when I laid eyes on you, when I saw the blood, I thought you were dead." I can barely get the last word out. "I've told you before that if something were to ever happen to you, my life would be over. In that moment, I realized how true those words were. Ana, I actually felt my heartbeat slow down. If you hadn't lived, I wouldn't have either."
"I know how that feels," she whispers.
I frown at her. "How?" I can't think of a single reason she should know what that feels like.
Though I can't see her, I know she's rolling her eyes at the question. "Charlie Tango," she says softly. I tense against her, having nearly forgotten about the incident she's referring to. "It was about a week after our let's-be-friends dinner and I was out to dinner with Kate and Elliot when Elliot got the call about you. We both know we'd been dancing around each other since Portland—mostly me dancing away from you—but you know I never stopped wanting you. That night, all I could think was that I wasted months avoiding you because of some stupid fear and I wouldn't get the chance to really tell you how I felt. I didn't feel like I deserved to wait in your apartment with your family for news, but I couldn't be anywhere else.
"And then when you walked through the door, I wanted to throw myself at you and beg you to take me back. I kept thinking this was my chance to fix things. I would have done anything, but when you saw me I couldn't move and you didn't seem to know what to do either, so I let things go and left with Kate and Elliot knowing I had time to get my thoughts arranged in terms of you. When I saw you again, you still seemed pretty stuck on the friendship thing so I never opened my mouth about it."
I so want to laugh right now. Here she is telling me she avoided the topic of us for the same reason I did: neither of us wanted to fuck with the status quo and risk further rejection and hurt. "You want to know what I was thinking that night?" I ask her. "I was thinking that if my parents and siblings hadn't been in the room, I was going to rip your clothes off and pin you to my couch and my window and piano and every other flat surface I could find. I didn't go near you that night because I didn't think I could control myself. And afterwards, I was just grateful that you were in my life again and didn't want to push my luck any further."
"We're talking in circles again, aren't we?" she asks wryly. "Wasted time, blaming ourselves, worrying that we're not good enough for each other... How long are we going to do this?"
Her tone isn't accusatory or even angry and upset; just curious. "It stops now," I decide. "Look, I have made some mistakes when it comes to you; every time I turn around I'm making the wrong decision. But I can't keep this up anymore. It's fucking exhausting. I know only time will prove it for sure, but I'm not going anywhere ever again, Ana. Baby, you are stuck with me until your last breath." I pause suddenly. "And for the record, your last breath won't be for a long, long time." She giggles; I grin. "What I need to know is that you're just as deep in this as I am."
"Deeper, I think," she says musingly. Her body is relaxing which probably means she took a painkiller when she woke up. "Of course you're not getting rid of me; I sort of thought that was clear when I showed up here last night."
"It is, baby," I promise. "But you know me; sometimes I just need to hear it."
She hums some response and I think she might have fallen asleep. Just as I begin to stand to take her back to bed, though, I realize she isn't done. I'm glad I'm still sitting when she speaks her next two words because I think we'd both end up on the floor otherwise.
"Marry me," she breathes.
A/N: Don't you just love cliffhangers? As always, thank you for the reviews. More story coming soon. And check out my bio page for the link to my original novels on Amazon!
