Talking grew easier as they got dinner on the table and sat down to eat, probably because they’d done this so often before. He carried the hot casserole dish to the table instead of letting her do it one-handed.
Encouraged by him, Erin grumbled about how completely miserable she felt. “Even my legs ache! My hip is sore. I feel like a hypochondriac. It’s not like I was injured below the waist.”
“You hit that tree with a lot of force.” He didn’t tell her, but he’d driven over to see where the accident had happened. Seeing the gouges in the tree had shaken him. The highway on that stretch was raised a good five feet above the wooded ground on each side. Her Cherokee had literally flown. “Your whole body had to be traumatized. Now you’re probably walking a little differently than usual, too, which can strain muscles.”
“I didn’t think of that.”
He wasn’t surprised when she told him she’d discovered what a restless sleeper she was. “I so want to lie on my left side,” she said with a sigh.
“It’s only been about a week. Just a few more, and you’ll feel like yourself again.” He almost said, You should remember. You’ve been through this before, but stopped himself in time.
Her thoughts went there, anyway, because she said, “I broke a lot of the same bones. Same side, too. It’s…weird.”
Cole set down his fork and reached across the table. Her hand met his without any of the earlier awkwardness. “Did this trigger nightmares?”
“A few.” She twisted her mouth. “I’d probably have more if I managed to stay asleep long enough.”
Cole looked down at his plate. He’d been hungry when he called her, but nerves had unsettled his stomach and now—
“I could help you get comfortable if I was sleeping with you.”
Erin stared at him. God, talking had never been his best skill. When so much was on the line, talking about feelings flat-out terrified him.
Even so, worried that he’d embarrassed her, he pushed himself to say, “I miss you.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
He shoved his chair back and moved fast, scooping her up and sitting down with her on his lap. “Don’t cry,” he said hoarsely.
Erin leaned her face against his chest, which muffled her wail. “I never used to cry! I don’t know what’s wrong with me!”
He was still scared, but found he was smiling, anyway. “You’ve been through a lot, sweetheart. You’ll get your balance back.”
Not until she went completely still did he realize he’d used an endearment. Worse yet, one his father had used with his mother. Cole could only wait to see how Erin reacted. He kept rubbing her back.
“I need to blow my nose,” she mumbled.
Still smiling—don’t let them see your fear—he thrust a napkin in her hand. She mopped and blew firmly, crumpled the napkin and lifted her head. The brief storm had added puffiness to her eyes and blotches of color to her freckled skin.
“You really mean that?” She searched his face. “You’re not just saying it?”
Lump in his throat, Cole shook his head. “I didn’t want to go. You had to know that.”
“I…suspected. But then I told myself—” She shook her head, too, as if there was no point in stating the obvious.
This was up to him. Fear and shame and a bunch of other stuff tangled up as he prepared to reveal himself to her again. At least after this…he’d know. Once and for all.
“Anything that happens, I want to tell you about it. I think about you all the time. Will you let me come back?” Home. That was what he’d meant to say. Instead, his speech had been about as fancy as his dented, aged pickup truck.
She didn’t jump off his lap. So many emotions crossed her face and enriched the color of her eyes he couldn’t read any of it. Or maybe he was just too nervous.
“Do you mean the apartment?” she asked carefully.
Muscles tightening even more, he whispered, “With you.”
“What changed your mind?”
“It didn’t change. I always knew—” Cole took a deep breath. “It killed me to leave. But…you’re a college professor. I’m an ex-con. I thought, sooner or later, you’d go back to, I don’t know, if not the same college, the same kind of place. Life,” he corrected himself. “If you didn’t want me to go with you…” He swallowed, unable to say, I might not survive that.