Page 16 of Love You, Mean It

“Two? Three?”

“Theo, we can’t go through our entire history now.”

“Why not?”

Because it’s all made up.

“Because you have to rest.”

“Ellie, I told you—”

“No, I’m tellingyou. This can wait. In fact, I think I should head out so I’m not such a distraction.” I started gathering my things. “That reminds me, I don’t think they’ve called your dad, but if you want, I can—”

“Don’t call him.” A shadow of the Theo I’d seen in the meeting overtook his face, jaw set, blue eyes freezing over; it was the face of a man used to having his orders followed.

“Are you sure?” Not that I had Ted Taylor on speed dial, but I could probably managesomethingif I had to.

“Positive.” His eyes narrowed. “You really think I’d wanthimhere?”

Apparently the Taylors belonged to Tolstoy’s hordes of uniquely unhappy families. Which honestly piqued my interest. Theo worked for his dad, he was Ted’s spitting image, both genetically and by choice (no oneforcedhim into that camel coat and scarf combo), but he seemed to have the same general feeling about the man as I did.Just one more reminder of how unprepared you were for this shitstorm you strolled right into…

“I thought a head wound might qualify as an exception.” Luckily, that seemed to appease his suspicions.

“If things take a serious turn for the worse, we can revisit this.”

“If we want to avoid that, you really should rest, okay? I can explain everything when you’re more yourself.”

Theo’s face tightened with frustration, but when he tried to sit up fully, the motion set off what I had to imagine was splitting head pain—he gasped and leaned back heavily, his color draining.

“I know this must be really hard. It’s hard for me too,” I said. Pretty much the only true thing to pass my lips since the accident. “But you need to listen to the doctors.”

“O-kay,” he said. The petulant tone was almost endearing, like a little kid finally resigning himself to bedtime.

I started toward the door and he called out.

“Ellie, wait.” He was frowning at me in a mix of hurt and confusion. “Aren’t you going to say goodbye?”

That drain opened up again, body sucking itself inside out, but what could I do? I should at least wait until he was semifunctioning to explain the snap decision; if I did it now, it would just confuse him more. I crossed the room and took his hand in mine, squeezing once. He’d better not expect a kiss.

But he just squeezed back, an earnest look softening his features as he gazed up at me, eyes roaming over my face slowly, as if he was trying to commit me to memory.

“Sorry I don’t remember us yet, but I will. And thank you. I do know I’m lucky you were there.”

“Of course…babe.”

Theo frowned.

“Do we really call each other that?”

I laughed, squeezing his hand another time before letting go.

“Definitely not. I don’t know where it came from.”

“Okay, good. I was starting to worry.”

By the time I made it back to my apartment, my head felt like a kicked hornet’s nest. I slipped my shoes off, crossing to the sewingtable in the nook opposite the kitchen to throw my purse and coat over the top. Usually I felt a little pang of guilt for using it as a coatrack—I hadn’t made anything new in months—but today I was too buzzy to even fully register it.

I sleepwalked into the kitchen and pulled a box of generic Cinnamon Toast Crunch out of the cupboard, eating it dry by the handful as I tried to order my thoughts.

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