Anticipation(7)

"I want your word on it." He held out his hand for her to shake.

"Seriously?"

He reached out and caught her right hand, forcing her to shake on their deal. Her fingers curled around his reluctantly.

"See? That wasn't so hard, was it?" he said.

"You missed your calling. You should have been a dictator."

He grinned at her, mostly because he knew it would annoy her. "When  you're ready, I've got a bunch of new games for the PlayStation."

"Don't you have to head into the studio?"

Her eagerness to be rid of him wasn't exactly heartwarming.         

     



 

"I took the day off, wanted to get you settled in."

"Wow. Look at you go, Sir Galahad."

"My pleasure. Really," he said as he left the room. "You can thank me later."

"You volunteered for this," she called after him.

He couldn't help smiling. Every day she got better. The color was back  in her face, and she was moving more easily, even though her ribs and  the tenderness in her abdomen clearly still gave her the occasional  pang. He didn't doubt that she would soon be rampaging around his house  on her crutches, rattling her cage.

He wouldn't have it any other way.

He'd just finished popping corn when he heard the thud of her crutches in the hallway.

"That smells freaking amazing," she said as she entered. She'd shed the  hoodie she'd worn home from the hospital, revealing a snug black tank  and yoga pants that had been hacked off at the knee on her injured leg.

"Ready to get your ass kicked?" he asked her.

"Ready to kick some ass, you mean." She gave him a scornful look before moving into the living room.

He waited till she'd sunk onto the sectional sofa before putting her  crutches out of the way. "Assassin's Creed or Call of Duty?"

"Duty, of course."

He set up the game and brought two controllers to the sofa, handing her one.

"Awesome," she said, shooting him a quick smile, her face alight with anticipation.

That was the thing about Blue, her tastes were pretty simple: give her  plenty of food, a roof over her head, and the potential to create havoc  in a virtual realm, and she was a happy woman.

He settled beside her, and they got lost in another world. It wasn't  until she made a couple of stupid mistakes - rookie moves - that he  realized she was tired.

"Enough," he said, hitting the button to suspend the game.

She widened her eyes as she turned to look at him, outrage writ large on her face. "What?"

"You're tired. You should stretch out, have a nap."

"Sweet baby cheeses. You have got to be kidding me."

"So you're not tired?"

"No."

"Liar."

"I just spent a week in hospital with a bunch of people in white coats  all up in my face. Do not tell me how I feel, or I will not be  responsible for my actions."

There was genuine frustration in her voice, not simple stubbornness, and  he reminded himself that she had always been someone who needed a  certain amount of alone time to recharge and regroup. Being in the  hospital had clearly pushed her to the limit.

"Compromise - we watch Lucy," he suggested.

For a moment he thought she would continue fighting, but she gave a  little shrug that long experience had taught him meant she was willing  to accept his offer.

It took him a few seconds to load the movie, and when he finished he  arranged some throw cushions so he could stretch out along one arm of  the sectional.

"You need help getting your leg comfortable?" he asked, assuming Blue would stretch out along the other arm, as she usually did.

"I've got it."

She lifted her fiberglass cast onto the sofa, and he plumped a few  cushions to prop her up before she settled on her side, facing the TV.

"Could I have the popcorn, please?" she asked.

He handed it over and hit Play. Blue was incapable of watching a movie  without stuffing her face. It was a fundamental law of the universe.

Twenty minutes in, she stirred, clearly uncomfortable, and he convinced  her to use his thigh as a pillow. It didn't take her long to drift off,  one hand curled beneath her chin like a child, her lashes dark against  her cheeks, her breathing deep and regular. He reached for the remote,  thumbing the volume to mute before killing the movie. She needed her  sleep more than she needed to see Scarlett Johansson's enormous IQ.

If he wanted to, he could probably ease Blue's head off his knee onto a  pillow and make his escape. He didn't want to. He was happy to sit and  watch her breathe. Happy to have a few minutes to regain his equilibrium  where she was concerned.

The accident - the brutal violence and suddenness of it - would live  large in his memory for a long, long time. Several times in the past  week he'd woken, sweaty and disoriented, frantic to do something, save  someone. No prizes for guessing what - or who - had inspired all of  that. Having Blue here in his home for the next however-long was as much  about reassuring himself that she was really here and would be okay as  it was about making sure she had everything she needed. The two were  inextricably entwined in his head and heart.

He glanced at her, his gaze roaming her face. There were still faint  yellow traces of bruises on her temples and around her eye socket. Her  hair was soft against her head, free of product for once, the roots a  light, innocuous brown where they were starting to grow out.         

     



 

In all the years he'd known her, he'd never seen her hair any color  other than some shade of blue - pale blue, indigo blue, purple blue,  Smurf blue, electric blue. He couldn't imagine her any other way, but  apparently - if her roots were to be believed - she was a natural  brunette. He tried to imagine her with brown hair but the image wouldn't  gel in his mind. This was who she was. Who she'd always been for him.

His gaze shifted to the slope of her cheek, then the curved bow of her  mouth. There was so much more to her than her appearance, so much fierce  will and humor contained in her small body, the fact that she was very  pretty was easy to overlook.

Her skin was flawless, the full, generous swoop of her lower lip verging  on the decadent. Her chin was firm, stubborn - no surprises there - and  when she smiled a dimple sometimes flashed in her left cheek.

And then there were those eyes - bright blue, and full of so much life and fire.

His gaze slipped from her face to her body, and it was impossible to  switch off the caveman part of himself that noted she wasn't wearing a  bra beneath her tight black tank top, or to stop himself from gazing at  the shadow of her cleavage. As he'd unabashedly told her many times over  the years, she had great breasts - full, firm, round - and the day he  didn't notice them was the day he no longer had a pulse.

He dragged his gaze - and mind - away from territory it had no business  exploring and focused instead on the gleeful, mischievous-looking fairy  cavorting across the front of her right shoulder. The second fairy he'd  inked for her. She had four in total, peppered across her chest, belly  and biceps, each with her own distinct fairy personality, and he was  responsible for them all.

This one was peering out from behind a verdant green leaf, gossamer  wings braced for flight. Her purple gaze was both challenging and  enticing, her smile naughty and irreverent. Blue always shrugged and  changed the subject when people asked if the fairies had some special  meaning or import for her. He'd heard her claim they were simply pretty,  or that she'd always had a thing for fairy tales when she was younger.

The truth, he knew, was that her fairies were her guardians, markers of  how far she'd come and what she'd learned and what mattered in life.  This fairy was Laughter, a reminder that joy was a gift to be treasured.  The rounded, open-handed fairy on her rib cage was Generosity, her arms  forever spread wide. On Blue's left bicep was Loyalty, standing with  her sword held high, ready to ride into battle for those she loved, and  on the left side of her chest was Resilience, hovering in the air, her  bow at her side, prepared for anything. Between them, the tattoos turned  her torso into a colorful canvas, a riot of brilliant hues and careful,  sinuous lines.

Blue stirred in her sleep, a frown forming between her eyebrows for the  briefest of moments before she sighed and stilled once more. Eddie  stroked his hand down her arm, allowing himself the luxury of being  gentle with her, something she rarely tolerated when she was awake. Hugs  she could handle, along with affectionate pats and back slaps, but any  sign of tenderness and she was edging toward the door or smacking him  away and telling him to practice his "dark arts" on someone else.

The one exception to all of the above being what had happened between  them when she'd woken after her accident. She'd let him comfort her  then. Not that he'd really given her a choice.

Blue's eyelids flickered, and her eyes opened.

"I fell asleep," she said.

"You did."

"That's annoying."

He did his best not to smile at her acknowledgement that he'd been right about her being tired.