“You could have been covered in sewage, and even then someone would have needed a crowbar to pry me away from you,” he responds dryly.
“No crowbar needed. I mate for life—you’re stuck with me.”
He smiles and leans his shoulder against mine. Sobering, he looks at me, expression serious as his eyes carve a delicate path across my face.
“How are your ribs? Does your leg still hurt?”
My hip is currently throbbing, and every small breath sends a sharp pain shooting down my side. Turning my head to look at him like this required a lot more effort than it should have. I smile.
“Both still hurt, but it’s manageable,” I tell him, bendingthe truth just a bit. I don’t think I can stand that worried, pinched expression on his face anymore. This was supposed to be a fun vacation—a happy place. Now, when he thinks back to this summer, all he’ll remember is the hell I put him through last night.
24
Marcos
Nate tellsme a little of what happened last night, but even without having been there myself, I can tell it’s an abridged version. A nice and tidy tale meant to make me feel better and not focus on the hell of the situation. I let him get away with it, if only because I don’t think I could hear the details right now without breaking down. My emotions are sitting dangerously close to the surface—it would take next to nothing to tip me over the edge. Nate doesn’t need that. He doesn’t need to worry about me when he’s the one in pain. He needs me to be strong.
“Are you still tired?” I ask softly, after he yawns a third time. He grins at me, the movement syrupy and slow, like it’s requiring more effort than usual.
“Yeah,” he admits. “And cold.”
“Does your uncle have a hot water bottle or something? A heating pad? I can go down and?—”
“No! No, don’t leave.” He wraps his fingers around mywrist, above the cuff of my long-sleeved shirt. “I’m fine. There are a hundred blankets on the bed right now.”
I coax him to lie down and tuck one of those blankets more firmly around him, wanting to try and keep as much heat in as we can.
“We need to take you to the hospital,” I repeat for the third time since we’ve been back, settling down on my side, facing him.
“We never go to the hospital,” he replies, laughing as though the suggestion is ridiculous. As though he didn’t almost fuckingdie.
“Nate.”
“The doctor told Jes I was fine,” he reminds me. “He said to just drink water, stay warm, and rest—which I’m doing—and that the cure for hypothermia is cuddling with Marcos.”
I huff a laugh, but roll over onto my back and hold out my arm. Nate’s eyes widen.
“Really? I was only joking.”
“Come here,” I request softly. He slides over immediately, curling his bigger body around mine and resting his head on my shoulder. I have to turn my face away as he does, unable to watch the careful, pained way he’s moving. After he settles, I once more tuck the blankets around him. I want him so warm, he runs the risk of cooking.
Flopping his arm over my middle, he tucks his fingers between me and the mattress, sighing in contentment. Even beneath the layers of clothing we’re both wearing, my skin prickles with irritation. It’s been a really long fucking day. I’m exhausted and my emotions have been put through the shredder. I don’t want to snuggle.
But I wasn’t making a joke when I told him I’d have to be pried off of him with a crowbar. I can stomach a night ofdiscomfort for this: Nate warm and alive in my arms, hair damp from the shower and nose tickling my neck.Warm and alive, I repeat to myself.Warm and alive.
“Okay?” he asks.
“Yes,” I agree, closing my eyes and smiling as he nudges himself a little closer. I rub my palm over his back, feeling tears gather in the back of my throat the way they’ve been doing off and on all day. I swallow them down.
“Can you talk to me in Spanish for a bit?” Nate mumbles, already sounding like he’s closer to sleep than wakefulness.
“Claro, amor. ¿De qué te gustaría hablar?” He breathes softly against my neck. “¿Te digo cuánto te adoro?”
“I’m going to learn Spanish,” Nate whispers.
“Deberías descansar ahora.” I rub my palm in a circular motion over his back. He sighs again, pressing his cheek harder against my shoulder. “Me quedaré despierto para asegurarme que te mantengas calientito.”
I keep talking to him, long after his breathing evens and he starts snoring gently. He presses closer in his sleep, seeking out that pocket of warmth between my neck and shoulder. I don’t push him away, even though it means his skin is touching mine. He’s too warm, but tonight it’s not the irritant it usually is.
