Page 73 of Dream Chaser

Over my dead fucking body.

I pulled into the organic grocery store’s parking lot and got out of the vehicle, my insides vibrating with rage.

I stopped. Took a calming breath. Strolled into the store and grabbed a cart, then pulled my phone out of my pocket.

“Así que estás vivo,” Manu said on the first ring. So you’re alive.

I took a carton of fresh orange juice from the fridge, phone wedged between my ear and shoulder. “Por ahora.” For now. “Can you talk?”

Pots clattered in the background. Then it went quiet. “Dos minutos. ¿Qué pasa?” Two minutes. What’s up?

“I’m at the grocery store. What can I cook for someone with iron deficiency?” Manu took several courses on nutrition back when we lived together, and he knew tons about a balanced diet.

A pause. Then he whistled. “When’s the wedding?”

Idiot. I groaned. “I don’t know when yours is, you tell me. I don’t have time to look it up. I know lentils are good. What else?”

“Mussels,” Manu said. “Make them steamed with lemon. Delicious. Red meat. A steak.”

“That’s good. Her b12 is low too.”

“Add spinach. Whose b12? Nova’s? Glad to know things are going well.”

Dogs with bones, all of them. “Nothing’s going. Nova’s head spun at work, so I took her to the ER.” I tossed a packet of lentils into the cart.

“Good boy. I heard massages are good too. Velas, una copa de vino.” Candles, a glass of wine.

I rolled my eyes. He would’ve laughed if he saw me. Good thing he didn’t. “Anything else?”

“I’ll think and tell you later. Start with what I told you, especially the last part. Me tengo que ir.” I’ve got to go.

“Thank you.” Manu was a pain in the ass, but he meant well. Unfortunately, not even knowing about my past deterred him from nagging.

The call had distracted me, but now, as I roamed the aisles, collecting the items I needed, what I’d overheard replayed in my brain. How could Nova’s mother side with that dipshit?

As I paid at the checkout, Nova’s tear-filled voice rang in my ears. By the time I got the meds and climbed into my car to go to her, the rage burned hotter, like flames rekindled with gasoline.

Nova’s condition was partly my fault. She’d been alone. Sleeping in her car. Barely eating. And I didn’t have a fucking clue.

I drove to my place, got a change of clothes and toiletries, and headed back to Nova’s.

Her apartment was dark and silent. She was curled up in bed asleep, hands tucked under her chin.

I watched her breathe, slow and even. She must’ve been exhausted from her iron deficiency and the conversation with her mother. I didn’t want to wake her. I’d have to be quiet while cooking.

Cooking for her. Spending the night at her place—no way I’d leave her sick and alone.

Carefully, I set the bag with the meds on her nightstand. She didn’t even stir.

If she were only my employee, I wouldn’t be here. I would’ve taken her home and told her to call if she felt worse. I would’ve followed up tomorrow, professional and contained. I wouldn’t be watching her sleep and counting her breaths.

The realization landed like a well-timed punch.

This wasn’t rational concern anymore—it was something sharper, more personal. I had crossed the line long before tonight. Long before the ER.

And I had no idea what to do about it.

If she didn’t work for me… If we’d met at a bar, an event, anywhere else, I would’ve made a move.