too. That was unacceptable. His gut twisted around that punch. “Did Mia distract you with stories of her filmmaking adventures?”
“No, she was rather closed off about her life.” Helen frowned. “I’ll have to talk to her more about that tomorrow.”
Wyatt could hardly describe his relationship with Mia. Except from the moment he’d seen her in mud-coated hiking boots, a T-shirt splattered with blood and a fierceness in her attitude, he’d been drawn to her. Even when she’d demanded that he save her friend’s life. Even when she’d defied his orders to leave the surgery area and instead positioned herself at the door like a guardian angel ready to swoop in if he failed her friend.
He wondered how Mia would describe their time in the village. He crumpled up another scam application, shooting it into the trash can, along with his wayward thoughts. Mia’s version didn’t matter. Nothing good came from dissecting the past. Lessons had already been learned, and he prided himself on not being a repeat offender. “Don’t pry where you’re not invited, Mom.”
“Mia supports my desire to return home.” Helen took off her glasses and folded the arms together. “I’ll only be reciprocating the concern.”
“She told you to move home?” No wonder she’d made his mom giddy, telling her exactly what she wanted to hear. Wyatt struggled to keep his face impassive. How dare Mia put such impossible ideas into his mom’s head. His mom already had too many impractical plans on her agenda.
“The idea that you were forcing me to give up my gardening appalled her.” Helen’s glass case closed with the same snap that punctuated her voice. “Mia believes a life not spent doing what you love is a life wasted.”
Mia needed to analyze her own life and leave his mom’s alone. Besides, one stroll through his mother’s house proved his mom might’ve escalated her passion to an obsession. Something her new friend could surely understand after chasing her own father around the globe. The drive for the perfect film footage had consumed Carlo Fiore so fully, he had nothing else to give his only daughter. Mia wanted a father, Carlo wanted a legacy. And it looked like Carlo had won. Mia had almost died for her film. That was passion in the Fiore family and stupidity in Wyatt’s mind. Still, Mia embraced her father’s life just as he’d trained her to. Just as Carlo Fiore had expected. Yet Wyatt wondered how much Mia loved the reality of her life now. “You can still garden and grow your plants.”
“There’s hardly room for more than two plants in the single window in those places.” Her frown joined the distaste in her voice. “Never mind the sunlight required for an herb garden.”
“If you looked at the floor plan, there’s more than one window.” Wyatt crammed the stack of applications into his backpack, ramming his frustration inside, too. “It isn’t a prison.”
“Mia suggested that my therapists do a home visit to assess the dangers before I move back.” Helen adjusted her covers, tugging the blankets up to her chin. “I spoke to both of my therapists this afternoon and offered to give them my set of keys if you’re schedule is too full to accommodate such a small request.”
Wyatt tapped his fist against his mouth, knocking his retort back behind his teeth. He really must thank Mia for her abundant help.
His mom lowered the head of her bed, signaling her desire to sleep and the end of their conversation.
Mia needed to stop making suggestions. Now. His mother needed to stop acting as if she came last in his life. He’d come home, hadn’t he? He swung the backpack on his shoulder and kissed his mom’s cheek. “I’ll talk to your therapists tomorrow.”
Right after he set Mia straight before things went too far and she’d written his mother’s discharge and home care orders herself.
Wyatt strode down the hall and noticed the light streaming from Mia’s room, not the soft night setting that allowed patients to see their way to the bathroom. But the full daylight setting that lit up the room like the noon sun across the desert. She knew the importance of sleep. A hospital room wasn’t a home office, and pulling an all-night work session would set back her recovery.
She had to be awake. No one could sleep in that flood of light. After he yelled at her for working all night, he’d order her to stay away from his mother. And if he sounded like a father warning a detention-stricken boy away from his honors-achieving daughter, maybe she’d listen and get in line.
“It’s lights out, Mia.” Wyatt tugged on the curtain shielding Mia’s bed. “As in stop working and go to...” Whatever else Wyatt might’ve said drained from his voice.
Several pillows propped Mia upright as if to better support her work session. Except her hands clenched the laptop like metal clamps. The deep, dark pockets under her eyes cast shadows down her cheeks. Strands of her chestnut hair poked out from her braid, stiff and crinkled, not soft and silky. Her right leg rested on top of the covers, but her foot, encased in a Bay Water Hospital sock, remained flexed, her knee locked and toes rigid as if she prepared herself to absorb the impact of ramming into the wall feetfirst.
“Working all night isn’t part of your treatment plan.” Wyatt reached for her laptop.
“I’m not.” Her grip on the computer tightened as if someone secured those clamps. “I have to.”
Wyatt checked her IVs, wondering if some sort of night terror was being caused by the pain meds. “It can wait.”
“I just need to watch.” Her hold never loosened. Only her wide gaze lifted to collide with his, her words toppling over each other. “If I just watch, everything will be fine again.”
The terror that burned the edges of her amber eyes seared through him, spiking his own blood pressure. He hadn’t ever witnessed her fear. As far as he knew, Mia dared fear to try to scare her. But in this moment, he couldn’t deny that fright engulfed her like uncontained wildfire.
“You can watch tomorrow.” He soothed his voice into the placating style of those hostage negotiators he’d seen on TV and tugged on the laptop, gaining some traction. She certainly hadn’t slacked off with her fitness in the past two years. Of course, all those adventure and wilderness shoots didn’t happen from the comfort of a jeep.
“Wyatt, press Play.” Mia’s gaze locked on the computer screen. Her cheeks paled as if she’d whitened her warm beige skin with bleach. “Just press Play, please.”
The shiver of dread leaking through her voice crept up his spine. Time to end this and regain control. He sat on the side of the bed and shifted into her view, replacing the computer screen with his face in her line of sight. “Mia, inhale now. Breathe in until I tell you to stop.” He cupped her cold cheeks in both of his hands. “Good. Exhale.”
He mimicked her breathing, matching his inhales and exhales to hers. The hitch in her breath stopped after the fifth exhale. She blinked after five more inhales. Another set of five and the warmth returned to her skin beneath his palms.
“You can let go.” Mia blinked, the movement slow and exaggerated, as if her eyelashes cleared the lingering fear from her gaze.
He rubbed his thumbs over her cheeks. “I’ll let go when I want.”
“Really, I’m fine now.” Still she leaned into his touch.
The shadows finally settled back into the bruises beneath her eyes. She was better, but far from fine. “You need to get some sleep.”
“I was trying to do that,” she argued.
“With your laptop.”
She pushed his arms away and grasped the computer as if he’d caused the crisis. “I’m being stupid. I already survived. It’s not like I’ll die from watching the footage.”
He flattened his palm against the laptop, keeping her from lifting the screen. “What footage?”
“There’s video from my accident. I need to watch it.” Confidence coated her voice, yet the tremor in her fingers