Ninety One

 Suddenly unsteady, she took a seat on the sofa. She'd noticed the occasional tint of pain in his eyes, but she hadn't prodded him about it, determined to hide her concern for him…like an insensitive bitch—something out of character for her. She'd let the anger she harbored change her behavior in some ways. No more of that. That wasn't the person she wanted to be. "I didn't know about the headaches."

 "Why would you? I'll bet you haven't taken the time to try to know him at all."

 "Look, you can take as many potshots at me as you want. But not now, okay. I need to understand what's happening with James . And if you're not going to let me wake him up and talk to him"—not that she really would disturb him, but Tunde didn't need to know that—"then you're going to have to be the one to tell me."