It occurred to her that at some point in time, if his memory didn’t show any signs of returning, she’d have to tell him they’d had a child. It was too risky not to. Someone at his office could just as easily raise the subject when he returned to work, and she needed to head that train wreck off at the pass if she could. But now wasn’t the time. He had enough to cope with, relearning everything in their current world.
Olivia picked up her palette, squeezed some colors onto the board and selected a brush to work with. She tried to force her mind to the small canvas she’d started this morning when Xander had been with the therapist, but her mind continued to drift back to her husband. To the man she loved.
She’d never struggled to focus on her work before. On the contrary, in the two years since Xander had left her, it had been an escape she’d sought with grateful abandon. Even before their separation, she’d guarded her alone time with a single-minded purpose and actively discouraged him from sharing her creative space. But now the gift of his return to her life made her want to spend every moment she could with him.
She put down her brush and palette and took them over to the small kitchen to clean. It was useless to keep trying to work today when all she wanted was to be near him. After she’d tidied up she walked across her studio to the bedroom on the other side. It was a large room, longer than it was wide. Its southerly aspect didn’t allow for the best of light, which had made it useless to her as a work space, but it would work well for Xander as an office. He could even access it through a separate door so as not to disturb her when she was working, if he wanted to. And if they relocated his things down here, she’d be able to be near him as she felt she needed to be.
She tried to kid herself that this new overwhelming need to keep an eye on him was nothing more than that of a concerned wife for her recuperating husband, but in all honesty the need was pure selfishness on her part. Sure, she would worry less about him possibly losing his balance on the stairs if he was here in the single-level dwelling with her while she worked. But worry wasn’t the only thing that drove her to consider the change. No, it was much more than that. It had more to do with grabbing this second chance at happiness and holding it close. Nurturing it. Feeding it. And never letting him go again.
Fired up by her decision, she went into the main house and straight up the stairs to the room Xander had set up as his office when they’d moved in. The door was open. When she noticed Xander, she hesitated in the doorway, her hand ready to knock gently on the frame.
He was slumped in his chair, his elbows on his desk and his head resting in his hands.
“Xander?” Olivia flew to his side. “Are you okay?”
“Just another of these damn headaches,” he said.
“I’ll get your pills.”
Less than a minute later she was back at his side with the bottle of heavy-duty painkillers the hospital had prescribed and a glass of water to knock them back with.
“Here,” she said, spilling the tablets into the palm of his hand. “Take these and I’ll help you to our room. You’ve been pushing yourself again, haven’t you?”
He’d already had a therapy session that morning and, for the past two hours after lunch, had been up here in his office. It was more than his tired body and damaged brain could handle—that much was obvious to her if not to her stubborn husband.
“Maybe,” Xander grunted.
His admission told her more than he probably wanted to admit, which, in itself, worried her even more. He grew paler as she helped him to his feet and for once he made no pretense about not needing her support as they slowly made their way across the hall to their bedroom.
Xander lay down on the bed with a groan, and Olivia hastened to draw the drapes and cast the room into soft half light. She brushed a light kiss on his forehead and turned to leave the room. But Xander had a different idea.
“Come lie with me, Livvy, please?”
It was the “please” that did it for her. Carefully, she eased her body on the bed next to him and curled to face him—one hand lifting to gently tousle his hair and massage his scalp. Beneath her fingertips she felt the scar tissue that had formed as he’d healed during his coma. It both shocked and frightened her, and she started to pull her hand away.
“Don’t stop. That feels great,” Xander protested.
It felt ridiculously good to her to be needed by him. Most of the time since he’d been home he’d fought for independence—begrudgingly accepting her help only when he had to or when she insisted. But here, now? Well, it made her decision to bring him home all the sweeter. To be able to fill a need for him, in the home they’d created together rather than know he was alone in that barren and soulless apartment he’d been living in, gave her a stronger sense of purpose than she’d felt in a long time.