Page 72 of Back to Square One

“Yes, you do.” Rowan held her gaze, and they had a little stare-down. Evie was trying hard to hold on to her irritation.

“I don’t. I don’t want you here. Go home.”

“That’s a lie, and no, I’m not going.” The flashing was back. “Do you want to tell me you don’t love me anymore? Because I know that’s a lie, too.”

And just like that, the anger drifted away. Evie’s face softened, and her eyes grew wet. Her voice was barely above a whisper when she spoke. “You don’t understand. You can’t possibly know.”

“So, tell me. Help me to know.” Rowan grasped her good hand and held it.

“I never wanted you to be a part of this.” Tears were flowing freely down Evie’s cheeks now, and she didn’t look at Rowan as she spoke. “I say I don’t want this for you because it’s just going to get worse. There’s no way around it. Not knowing when I’m going to break something or not be able to walk that day. Not knowing if or when I may end up a complete invalid. I’m never getting better. Only worse. And I do not want this for you.”

Rowan squeezed Evie’s leg and took a moment to find the right words, because Evie was clearly struggling. “You know, I’m sitting here looking at you and I see so many things.” Her voice was quiet, and she watched her own hand as she stroked Evie’s leg. “I see pain. I see worry. I see fear. And while I may not get the source of each deep down, I do get them. I can understand some of what you’re feeling. And more than anything, I want to help you carry those things, those emotions and feelings.”

Evie shook her head. Adamantly. “No. No, I don’t want you to have to do that. Nobody should have to do that. It’s not fair.”

“Well.” She waited until Evie looked up and met her gaze. “I told you this at the beginning when you first clued me in on the MS, and I’ll say it again now: it’s not really your decision, is it?” She asked the question gently, her words soft and tender, and she tipped her head as she spoke. “You don’t get to decide that for me.”

Evie opened her mouth, presumably to answer, but she shut it again and blinked rapidly.

“See, I’m not here out of some obligation or duty I feel. And remind me to thank Claire for calling me so I could be here for you.” She arched an eyebrow at Evie, who had sense enough to look ashamed, and then she went on. “I’m here because I want to be. I’m here because I love you. It really is just as simple as that.” She punctuated the sentence with a half shrug and a lopsided grin.

At that moment, Evie looked like she had every emotion known to man run across her face as she absorbed Rowan’s words, and still, she said nothing.

“I see by your loud and emotional response that I said exactly what you expected to hear.” She grinned at Evie just as a doctor appeared at the foot of her bed. She seemed to do a quick double-take at Rowan.

“You’re not the person who was just here, right?”

Rowan smiled. “No, that was Evie’s best friend. I’m her partner.” She felt Evie’s eyes snap to her but kept looking at the doctor.

“Ah. Got it. Well, Ms. Price, there’s definitely a break. The x-rays show a fracture, so we’re going to cast your wrist, give you some painkillers. We’ll get you out of here as quickly as we can, all right?” She gestured to her left, and a nurse appeared with a wheelchair.

Evie looked to Rowan, who smiled tenderly at her. “I’ll be right here when you get back.”

As quickly as possible turned out to be another four hours in the emergency room, and by the time Rowan unlocked the door to Evie’s house and held it open for her, they were both bleary-eyed with exhaustion.

“I find it so weird that sitting around doing nothing for hours on end can be so tiring,” she said as she shut and locked the door behind them.

Evie nodded but had been quiet for most of the ride home.

“Meds making you sleepy?” Rowan asked, to which Evie nodded again and headed toward her bedroom without a word. “Want some tea?”

In the doorway of her bedroom, Evie gave her a small smile. “That would be great.”

“You got it.” Thankful for something to make her feel useful, Rowan headed for the kitchen, where she found broken glass on the floor, marking where Evie must’ve fallen. With a quiet sigh, she stepped around it to put the kettle on, found the broom and dustpan and swept up the shards, then went over it all with a wet cloth to make sure she got every last piece. She made two cups of tea and carried them to the bedroom where she found Evie on the bed with her eyes closed, still fully dressed. She stood there for a moment and simply looked.

Evie was never not beautiful to her. Ever. In all the years she’d known her, she couldn’t remember a time she’d ever found her less than physically perfect. With a grimace, she realized that there had to have been some time during their breakup where she’d thought less than favorable things about her, but those memories hadn’t returned. Aside from knowing Evie had said she didn’t love her anymore, those holes in her memory had remained blissfully empty. She looked at Evie now, at her smooth skin, her hair such a dark brown it was nearly black, her dark lashes against her face. Her long limbs, the curve of her hips, the gentle rise and fall of her breasts. She was stunning to Rowan; she always had been.

She set the tea down on the nightstand, then gently shook Evie’s shoulder. “Babe,” she said when Evie stirred. “Let’s get you into some pajamas and under the covers, okay? Then you can sleep.”

The tea went cold in its cup because as soon as she’d helped Evie put on pajama pants and a tank and slide under the covers, she was out again. The painkillers were going to make her drowsy, they’d been warned, but added to the stress of the day, they knocked her the hell out. She was on her side, curled toward Rowan, sound asleep.

Rowan was tired, but not I need to sleep tired, just bone weary and glad to be in bed and relaxing. She clicked on Evie’s television and kept the volume low. She surfed until she found an old episode of Dateline she couldn’t remember seeing and left it to play.

“It’s the husband,” she whispered into the empty room, voicing her prediction. “It’s always the husband.”

On the nightstand to her right, her phone buzzed quietly, indicating a text. She took a look. Stevie.

Checking in. What’s new?