here?” I clutch on to the top of the sofa, afraid I’m going to fall on my face.
“I called him,” my mother says, carrying a silver tray as she enters the room. The smell of coffee follows her.
“Why?”
Roman winces, clearly hurt, but screw him.
“Because I think it’s time you spoke.” She is so matter-of-fact. I can see where I get my stubbornness from.
I purse my lips, purposely avoiding looking at him. “The last time we spoke, he didn’t have much to say.”
“Because you did all the talking,” he counters lightly.
“Well, I call it as I see it, and all I see”—I finally make eye contact, quashing down the happiness at seeing him here—“is someone giving up. And I don’t like quitters. A quality you apparently liked about me, Dr. Archibald.”
Roman sighs, fisting his hair in frustration.
“Oh, Lola, stop it. You know you’re happy to see him.” I turn to look at my mom, making big eyes her way. Just whose side is she on?
He smirks, and just like that, I can breathe again.
“I’ll leave you two alone. Go easy.”
“I will,” Roman says, nodding his gratitude at my mom.
But she shakes her head. “No, I was talking to my daughter.”
I roll my eyes. “Goodbye, Mother.”
She exits with a smile. Damn her meddling, but I can’t deny she’s done good this time.
An uncomfortable silence fills the room. Not a common occurrence between Roman and I, but I guess things change.
“Do you want any coffee?”
“No, I’m okay.”
Silence.
Well, this isn’t at all awkward.
He stands by the mantel, watching me. I tug at my skirt, suddenly feeling like I’m on show.
“Lola…” I wait, using the couch as my barricade. “I’m so sorry about the other day. I overreacted.”
“You think?” I scoff.
“I’m trying here,” he exclaims, obviously expecting a better reunion.
Roman annoys the bejesus out of me because we’re both headstrong and stubborn, especially when it comes to the well-being of the other.
“Did you think this was going to be easy? If you did, you thought wrong.”
“No,” he sighs. “Nothing is ever easy with you.”
“I don’t make apologies for who I am.”
“And I don’t want you to. I love that about you.”
The L-bomb. It’s nice to know he still cares. But the question is, does he care enough?
He digs his hands into his pockets, his hair shrouding his face as he lowers his chin. “I read over the paperwork. Impressive. You’d make a good attorney.”
“Maybe in another lifetime,” I reply, waiting for him to continue.
“You’re right”—he meets my gaze—“this would work. But…I just can’t. It’s all I’ve thought about these past few days, but I just…I can’t. I would feel…”
“Undeserving? Guilty?” I offer when he pauses.
“Yes.”
I know those feelings well. Wasn’t I the one who expressed the same concerns when Roman presented me with the opportunity to live again? I’m angry, disappointed, but most of all, I understand how he feels.
On paper, this works, but morally, Roman couldn’t live with himself. “Put yourself in my shoes. How would you feel if I proposed what you are?”
Would I rather die than live the rest of my days with Roman’s heart beating soundly within my chest? Each beat a constant reminder of all that I’ve lost. A blanket of hopelessness swathes me, and I suddenly can’t breathe.
“I know it’s not what you wanted to hear, but…”
I can’t listen to another word.
“Excuse me.” I make my way to my room.
My world is turned upside down, because this is it. No matter how much I hate what Roman has decided, I understand. To save his life, I’d have to forfeit mine. Of course, I would wait until nature takes its course, but that doesn’t make a difference. At the end of the day, Roman would be alive and I wouldn’t. He can’t live with the guilt.
“May I come in?”
“I can’t stop you,” I reply despondently from the foot of my bed.
Roman enters, closing the door behind him. He stands in the middle of the room, arms linked behind his back. “I don’t want to fight with you. I love you. I love that you would be willing to do this for me. You literally are offering me your heart.” He steps forward, kneeling at my feet. “Thank you. That’s what I should have said to you. Thank you for offering me life.”
I gaze down at him, too afraid to speak. His stance is defeated. Before me kneels a broken man. “You’re w-welcome,” I whisper.
With a tremor to his touch, he gently cups both hands around my calves. The moment he