"I'll keep that in mind," he says, with so much intensity that I blush all over again. "By the way, Ares called. He said to tell you he'll call again tomorrow."
"Did he need to talk to me about his show?" He's got the staging and song order down pat, but for the last two weeks, he's been running tweaks by me.
"Just checking in to see how you're feeling."
"Oh." I wait a second while my fuzzy brain processes that. "Did Cam call him?"
"I did. I got his number from Maia. I thought he'd want to know."
"I can't believe you thought of that. Thank you." I blink, and a tear trails down my cheek. I wipe it away, embarrassed. "Do you have any idea how much I love you right now?"
His eyes widen, and I realize what I've just said.
"I mean, you've been so sweet, taking care of me, and all." I'm trying to cover, even though the truth is that I am falling for him all over again. But I'm not ready to say it out loud, because I'm not ready to risk my heart. "All I've been doing is sleeping--you're the one shouldering everything. Hell, I don't even remember the accident."
He shudders, then reaches for his phone on the bedside table. "A witness sent the responding officer pictures of the scene. He forwarded it to you for insurance." His voice is flat, so tightly controlled it's almost emotionless. "Cam brought your laptop over a few hours ago, and he forwarded the pictures to my phone."
"Bad?" I honestly don't remember, but I can tell from his posture and his voice that it's not just bad, but very bad.
He doesn't answer. Instead, he passes me his phone. There are five pictures, each worse than the one before. The front of my Honda is completely crumpled, and the driver's side door is practically turned inside out.
I feel sick. Because looking at these pictures, I have no idea how I got out of that car alive.
"You slammed into the side window as it shattered, they think. And thank God you had airbags."
"He ran the light," I say, flinching as the memory breaks over me. "I was in the intersection, and . . ." I trail off, shuddering, then gasp with surprise when he pushes himself violently off the bed and slams his fist into the half wall that separates this area from the rest of the studio.
"Noah!"
"I'm sorry," he says, his back to me, his hands now clenched into fists at his sides.
"I'm sorry," he repeats, and I watch as his posture straightens and he turns to face me. I see the struggle play out over his features, his green eyes haunted.
"What are you sorry for?"
"For this." He indicates himself. "For losing my shit like that. But Kiki . . ." He trails off, then sits at the foot of the bed and scrubs his hands over his face. He looks tortured, and I hug myself, because I know that I'm the reason.
"I'm fine," I say gently. "It was a horrible wreck, but I'm fine."
"I could have lost you." His voice breaks, and the pain I hear humbles me.
"You didn't." I take his hand and hold it tight. "I'm right here."
His eyes meet mine, and in that moment I regret stumbling backward from my declaration of love. Because it's love that I see in his eyes right now.
"This is twice now that you've proved to be a miracle," he whispers, lifting my hand and gently kissing it.
"What do you mean?" I shift against the pillows, wincing a little.
He frowns. "I'm getting your pill now, whether you like it or not."
I nod in acquiescence, and he heads into the kitchen. Since it's a studio, it's easy enough to hear him.
"I mean that I lost you in Los Angeles, and found you here. Miracle One. And you walked away from that accident with no broken bones or serious injuries. Miracle Two."
"Lost me?" I don't mean to sound snippy, but I can't help it.
He returns with my pills and my drink, and I swallow them reluctantly.