Page 28 of Heartfelt Pain (Ruling Love #3)

Ren

I t turns out to only be a really bad sprained wrist. They tell me to ice it and finally give me some fucking meds.

Trevino helps me get back home. I don’t make it to the bed. He pulls a throw blanket over me when I sprawl on the couch and sets down a glass of water on the coffee table.

“Eat.” He holds out a granola bar. “I’m serious. Those meds will do more damage on an empty stomach.”

I don’t want to, but under his watchful eye, I eat not only one granola bar but two.

He closes the door behind him and I sleep in a deep fitful way. Shadows cast the living room in gray and I lose all sense of time and dimension. My phone lights up occasionally, but I’m surprised by the number of messages when I wake up hours later.

It’s almost four in the afternoon. I slept for a solid six hours. My muscles groan as I stretch my back out, but I hiss when my wrist moves.

Ben sent a few texts. The typical ‘What’s going on?’ Abe called and I see that later on he sent a follow-up message telling me he got all the information he needed by finally contacting Trevino.

At least one friend isn’t passive-aggressive.

Isolde: You say when and I’ll show up with weed and pizza.

Ren: That’s my favorite combo. I’ll let you know when I need it.

There’s a smattering of other emails, voicemails, and texts. People complaining about their upended schedules.

There’s no way I could’ve made it through the day. I’ll never admit it, but I’m glad Trevino took me to the hospital. But I’m off-balance as I find myself at home, alone on a weekday afternoon. It’s not like when I met up with Isolde yesterday. I actually missed work this time.

The back of my neck is hot and sticky as I take stock of my life when I get a text from Trevino.

Trevino: The Zimin asshole is here. Do you want me to let him up?

There are perks to being the kid of the boss, but I sit up wondering if Roma took time off work early to come here.

Trevino: I think he’s got ice cream with him.

I’m a total goner. Not only because of the sweet treat but because even Trevino, the serious, grumpy man, takes Roma’s reappearance into my life as a certainty.

Roma comes in with two paper grocery bags. His shoes join the crowd by the door and he kisses my forehead before he heads to the kitchen.

It’s all rather domestic as I sit on the couch still rubbing sleep and confusion out of my eyes .

“Do you need another one of these?” Roma studies the pills on the counter.

“I think I need to eat more.” I nearly gag on the water Trevino set out for me. It’s so fucking boring. I don’t know why people think it’s that great.

Roma opens a drawer and takes out a pot. He puts away the groceries as he boils water. I take the chance to go to the bathroom, moving around stiffly.

I’m back under my throw blanket watching reality TV when he presents me with a bowl of mac and cheese.

“Is that for me?” I ask wistfully when he pops open a Dr Pepper. He takes a sip and makes me finish my water.

There’s not much talking. I’m too tired, the pain is only dulled by the meds. I curl into his side as the TV plays, constantly careful about how I hold my wrist.

He helps me change into pajamas since I didn’t bother earlier.

He pulls the bedcovers back and I’m glad the sheets were freshly changed.

Not because I don’t wash my bedsheets, but I’m not good at making the bed up.

The sheets are pulled tight, the duvet lined up and covering me. It’s not some mass of tangled bedding.

I sleep so hard and so long, I don’t open my eyes until ten the next morning. I wake up in another dimension because I can’t remember the last time I slept in like that.

Roma: Let me know when you’re awake and okay.

Ren: I’m alive.

It’s two simple texts but at least something is right in the world.

Isolde comes over a few hours later. I’m sitting on my couch, mindlessly staring at the TV because I’m not sure what I should be doing .

“You want a slice now?” she asks, walking to the kitchen with a pizza. “I’m going to put the rest in the fridge for whenever you want it.”

Trevino opens the door a few minutes later. The scowl on his face is so intense even in my haze I feel my brows lift up in wonder.

“She can’t smoke anything. She’s on pain meds.”

Isolde settles back into the couch. “You hack my phone or something?”

The scowl deepens. “No weed.”

He takes one step back, closing the door behind him.

Isolde takes out a joint from her pocket. “I was just gonna leave it for you anyway.”

“Thanks, friend.” I lovingly wrap my hand around the weed for a moment before placing it on the coffee table. “You know I think he reads a lot.”

Isolde picks up the remote, flipping through channels. “What do you mean?”

“I saw him with a book the other day. I think maybe when all of this is over we should invite him to book club. You know, stay friends with him.”

“I’d love to get his opinion on Ice Queen’s Loverboy .”

“Wait is that seriously the title for this month’s book?”

“If you’re feeling up to it, we could go to the bookstore later. Get his initial thoughts on the cover.”

I take another pain pill, washing it down with a slice of pizza and a Coke. Isolde is still over when there’s a knock at the door. Ben uses his key to let himself in.

“Hey.” He shuts the door, but remains by it, right next to the couch since this place doesn’t have a foyer. “How are you feeling?”

It’s hard to figure out which of us is worse off. He’s got bags under his eyes and his hair sticks up. The few buttons of his shirt are undone and it’s not pressed like usual .

He runs a hand over my form and his eyes linger on my bandage wrist. Maybe he didn’t believe me and thought I’d just wanted a day off. But the pill bottle on the coffee table and the ice pack should be enough to tell him I wasn’t lying.

“It hurts,” I admit, wondering when exactly the pain will go away.

“You need any groceries?” he asks, sweeping his eyes over the rest of the place.

“No, it’s okay.” He doesn’t need to know Roma already dropped some off.

He also picked up some of the bigger piles of clothes lying around and placed them in the hamper. Before he left he must’ve lined up my shoes because they’re no longer a jumbled-up pile.

“Boris Akatov swung by for lunch.” Ben fingers the key ring in his hand.

“By himself?” I ask.

“No. He brought Dmitri along with him this time. Asked about the analysis.”

“I told him no,” I promise.

“Yeah, Zimin looked relieved when I mentioned that.”

Dmitri has one facial expression—a downtrodden frowny face. He’s not perpetually sad but the man could’ve used a good skincare regime years ago.

“Odd, if Dmitri doesn’t like what Boris is up to,” I mention.

“Not if he knows Boris is reaching,” Isolde replies.

Ben presses the tip of his finger against the grooves of a key. “Bruce heard you’d called meetings off. He wants to know if Saturday is still on?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“And the rest of the week?” he asks.

A dating show plays on the TV as I think. “I think I’ll be better by tomorrow. I’ll fix the schedule later. Make sure everything is rescheduled.”

“Abe already did it.”

“Abe?” He’s supposed to stay out of shit. His family owns the restaurant and that makes him a neutral party.

My cousin reads my thoughts. “No one had any problems.”

“Okay.” I pull my legs off the coffee table and hug them closer to my chest.

“You know if you’re not feeling well we can go ahead and cancel the rest of the meetings this week.”

I nibble on my bottom lip. Everything in me wants to say, no I’m fine. But I’m not. I don’t want to go to work the rest of the week. I’ve never felt so unattached in the five years of owning my own business.

“There’s a meeting with the Japanese. And Vince really needs a triggerman.” He’s one of my longest customers.

“I’ll do it,” Isolde volunteers, no questions.

“I’ll call him,” Ben says, but he looks to me for confirmation. “And I don’t mind taking the meeting with Bruce on Saturday.” He’s another client that needs a lot of attention, but he’s one of my best. It’s better to make an exception for him than kick his meeting down the road.

“Can I move around the rest?” Ben asks.

I nod, holding myself tighter. It needs to happen, but it still feels wrong.

“Okay.” Ben toys with his keys, turning to the door. “Call me if you need anything else.”

“Thanks,” I say quietly.

“Look at you,” Isolde says a second later. “You’ll have so much fucking free time to read The Count’s Honey Pleasure .”