things.”
Sloane kept looking at me, so I kept talking. “Her traumatic brain injury left her in a coma for three days, and when she woke up, it took about four years for her to recover from the after-effects. Three months for her to stand on her own and walk again, but her balance was impacted for a long time. Thus the bandaging.”
I gave a wry smile, wrapped ice in a towel and laid it across Sloane’s fingers. “Her speech fully returned about eleven months after, with a lot of hard work on her part. And her rehabilitative nurse, Jeanette. And after school, and in between when I worked, my mother and I did things like this. Or flashcards, or memory exercises, or muscle strengthening.”
“How long did you care for her?” she asked.
“Two years,” I said. “Then I started my undergraduate at Penn. I considered deferring for a year, but my mother had Jeanette, and I was able to come home every weekend. We made it work, although it was hard. Harder than I ever thought it would be.”
“Where is your mom now?” she asked.
I grinned. “Well, she married Jeanette.”
Sloane laughed—a bright, happy sound. A surprised sound. “Well good for her.”
“That’s what I say.” I tilted her head from left to right, searching for more injuries. “They live in Miami in a retirement village for vibrant seniors. Brain injury is a lifelong journey to healing, and even twenty-five years later, there are things that happen to her because of it. She’s a little more forgetful. She struggles in big groups of people or loud parties. Some of her memories never came back. Yet she’s rebuilt her life from the ashes, found love and joy. She’s a real inspiration.”
“And your dad?”
“Just a ghost,” I said softly. “A non-entity in my life.”
She placed her non-injured hand on my chest, right over my heart. “Told you it was in there.”
I grabbed it, squeezed it, then touched her face one last time, this time for the very selfish reason of just because. Sloane picked up another ice cube from the tray and held it to the bruise on my own jaw. The shock of it sent a hiss through my teeth.
“Sorry,” she said quickly, removing the ice. I gripped her hand, brought it back.
“Just a shock,” I said. “It feels good. It helps.”
“I’m not very good at caring for… anything,” she said. “I don’t even think my parents gave me BAND-AIDs when I fell as a kid.”
I had about a million questions about her parents, but I sensed the gravity of each bite of information she gave up, respected that space.
Outside our room, the London skies poured with heavy rain. Sloane tracked the sound.
“You’re doing great,” I said. “This is the second time we’ve iced each other. I’m starting to sense a pattern.”
A tiny smirk returned to her face and I was goddamned grateful to see it. “That’s right. The first time we fought off a man together. We didn’t touch each other.”
“A lot has changed,” I said, burying untold emotion and yearning within that one simple phrase. The sensations of tonight came back to me with a painful need—Sloane’s lips, her kiss, her skin, her hair. This small room, these shared beds, our few dry things mingling together on the counters and dressers. “I broke our rule tonight. I’m sorry.”
I was still on my knees in front of her, too captivated to move. As she stared at me, lips parted, I backed away. Stood up. Moved six feet away from her beauty.
“I kissed you back,” she said. “You don’t have to apologize. We were caught in a moment.”
“Trust is our main rule though,” I said. “Kissing you betrays our trust. The trust that I’ll respect you, respect what this case means to you.”
“Honesty is part of those rules,” she countered, ever the challenge. “The honest truth is that I’m happy I know what it’s like to be kissed by you, Abraham. If you’d gone home, back to Codex, and I’d never known, I would have always regretted it.”
I wanted this woman so badly it was actually painful. My bruise was a paltry expression of it.
“My attraction to you is all-consuming, Sloane.” I watched her jolt on the bed, respond to words I’d never thought or spoken aloud. Ever. “I couldn’t not know what your lips tasted like.”
“And what was that?” she asked, smiling a little.
“Marshmallow.” I unleashed a real, full smile—didn’t hide it or rein it in, like I usually did. “There’s my honesty.”
Immediately