PAIGE
The first thing I felt was the throb.
A deep, dull ache in my cheekbone, a constant reminder of the night before. The numb haze was gone, replaced by a sharp, persistent pain that pulsed with every heartbeat.
But wrapped around that pain was a different memory—the feel of Reomen's arms, solid and sure, holding me through the dark. The low murmur of his voice asking, "Are you okay?" every time I stirred. The way he'd adjusted the ice pack in his sleep.
For a few hazy minutes, wrapped in the scent of him on his sheets, I just let that memory hold me. The safety of it. The quiet.
Then reality knocked, sharp and insistent.
The other side of the bed was empty, cool. A note was on his pillow, his sharp, slashing handwriting: At an off-site meeting. Rest. Don't argue. I almost smiled. Of course he'd preemptively forbid me from working.
