I mean, I guess as my husband it is.
I almost laugh out loud at my insane thoughts.
I’m clearly delusional. Tired, hungry, and pure fucking crazy.
“We should go,” I say, finally breaking the silence in the room. “I need food and sleep.”
“Okay,” he says simply.
Releasing my hand, he pushes from the chair and gives me a little privacy to say goodbye to Mum—not that she knows I’m even here.
“Sleep well, Mum. I’ll come back soon.” Whenever that dick decides to let me out.
I drop a kiss to her brow and take a step back, keeping my eyes on her for any clue that she might be aware of my presence.
There aren’t any.
One of the tears that has been threatening to fall since before I even walked into this room finally slips free as I back toward the door.
Chastising myself for caring so much when clearly, she never really has, I angrily wipe it away.
Pulling the door open, I find Theo leaning against the wall opposite with one foot propped up and his hands deep in his pockets.
My heart damn near skips a beat at the sight of him.
For just a few blissful seconds, I allow my imagination to get the better of me. I forget all about our reality and just see him as a guy waiting for a girl he cares about.
My heart pounds, and something I can only assume is contentment and happiness fills my chest.
He pushes from the wall and is in front of me before I’ve had a chance to blink.
His warm hand wraps around the back of my neck, and I’m powerless but to look up at him as he looms over me.
“You’ve been crying,” he whispers.
“I’m exhausted.”
His eyes drop from mine in favour of my lips, and for the briefest moment, I think he’s going to kiss me, right here in the middle of the hospital ward.
But when he moves, his lips don’t connect with mine. Instead, he rests our brows together.
“I’m sorry,” he breathes, making the pain in my chest only worsen and those damn tears to burn red hot once more.
Swallowing all that emotion down, I drag my hard mask back into place.
“Are you, though? If you really were sorry, you’d let me go.”
His eyes hold mine, boring into them as if he’s trying to read all my secrets.
“Can’t,” is the only word that falls from his lips before he releases me, takes my hand once more and leads me out of the hospital and to the safety of his car.
I expect him to drive us straight back to his flat, so I’m shocked when he takes a different turn and pulls into a fast food place.
“Usually, I’d refuse to have the smell of grease in my car, but I’m assuming you don’t really want to go in there,” he nods toward the restaurant full of people, “so I’ll make an exception… for you.”
“Wow, that’s kind of you,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “What else could I make you do?” I ask. It’s an off-the-cuff comment that I don’t expect him to answer, so when he speaks it knocks me off-kilter.
“Pretty much anything,” he says quietly before lowering his window and rattling off his order to the little speaker thing. “What do you want?” he asks.