I half carry, half drag him to the bedroom, his weight heavy against me, his breath ragged in my ear. The second we reach the bed, he collapses onto it, his body convulsing with violent tremors despite the feverish heat radiating off him.
He doesn’t speak.
He doesn’t have to.
The pain is carved into his scrunched-up features, the way his muscles lock tight, the way his hands clench the sheets like he’s holding on for dear life. I lower myself beside him, keeping my distance. It’s not because I don’t want to touch him, it’s because I don’t know if he can handle it.
He’s burning up.
He’s freezing.
He’s wrecked.
And all I can do is watch.
My heart aches, but my hands stay in my lap—useless, shaking, aching to do something. It’s gut-wrenching and agonizing.
It’s pure unadulterated hell.
From time to time, Johnny steps in to check on us. We exchange silent reassurances, careful not to disturb Colt, not to break the fragility of the moment. But I can’t shake the feeling that I should be doing something.
Something to ease his pain.
Something to help.
Except I don’t know how.
I’ve never dealt with this before, so I have no idea what is needed.
“Dee…” Colt’s voice is hoarse, barely more than a groan.
I lean in, my fingers brushing against his face. He is too clammy, too cold, but I try to comfort him anyway. “I’m right here, babe,” I whisper, caressing his cheek, willing him to feel my presence. His body is limp, lifeless, his breathing shallow, and my chest tightens painfully as I watch him.
He looks so…fragile.
Then, without warning, he rolls onto his side, curling into himself. My hand follows, instinctively reaching for him again.
“Fuck off!” he moans, voice slurred, pained.
I freeze.
He doesn’t mean it.
Iknowhe doesn’t mean it.
But that doesn’t stop it from hurting.
My throat tightens, and I quickly retreat, stepping into the bathroom. I turn on the faucet, letting the water run before splashing my face. The cold bites into my skin, grounding me for half a second.
I need to be here for him.But damn if it doesn’t feel like my heart is being ripped to pieces. I grip the edge of the basin, knuckles white, and stare at my reflection. Red-rimmed eyes. A face weighed down by exhaustion. By pain. “You can do this,” Iwhisper, forcing the words out, trying to convince myself they’re true.
I inhale slowly, hold it, then exhale just as steadily, then grab a paper towel, drying my face with shaky hands, pulling myself together—just enough.When I return to the bedroom, Colt is trembling again, so I slide back into bed beside him.
His body tenses, then softens, a quiet whimper escaping his lips. “Dee?”
His eyes snap open, wide, frantic. Lost.
I smile softly, reassuring him the only way I can.
