Page 230 of Override

I frown. "No?"

She shakes her head. "I'd rather stay in here."

My fingers still. "This room isn't intended for two people."

"I know."

"You'll sleep better in the other room."

She looks up at me then, her eyes finding mine even in the darkness. "I don't want you sleeping in a room that stopped functioning."

The words steal every coherent thought I have. She remembered. Not just what I'd said. The way I'd said it. She hadn't laughed. She hadn't corrected me. She hadn't tried to convince me it was a strange way to describe grief.

She'd simply...understood.

My throat feels unexpectedly tight. "I don't mind the main room."

"I know." She smiles softly. "But this is where you're comfortable."

No.

I realize with quiet certainty as I continue running my fingers through her hair. This...is where I'm comfortable.

Chapter 51

Maeve

I've learned quickly that living with Keaton meant learning a language no one else seemed to speak.

It wasn't words. Those came carefully and only after he'd already decided exactly which ones belonged together.

It was everything in between.

The way his jaw tightened when something unexpected interrupted his routine. The tiny crease between his eyebrows when he was mentally solving three problems at once. The way he'd straighten a picture frame every time he walked past it, even if it had only shifted enough for him to notice.

And...The tapping.

A finger twice against his thigh. A pause. Then twice again. Not impatient. Not nervous.

Thinking.

Usually because something in his head refused to come out the way he wanted it to. I'd watched him do it enough over the last few days to know better than to interrupt immediately. If I gave him a minute, he'd usually find the words.

The guest room is quiet except for the soft zip of the duffel bag he'd packed with almost military precision. Every shirt folded exactly the same. Every magazine counted before it disappeared into the side pocket. Phone charger. Extra batteries. Medical kit.

He'd packed the bag in less than four minutes. He'd spent the last fifteen standing in front of it.

Tap. Tap. Pause. Tap. Tap.

I sit cross-legged in the middle of the bed, watching him pretend to reorganize items that had already been organized. "I'll be okay."

He nods without looking at me. "I know."

"You don't sound convinced."

"I am."

Tap. Tap. He adjusts a zipper that was already closed.