I feel his cock jerk. He’s been hard this whole time, and it makes me feel a little guilty. But he’s assured me it’s fine, that this is what he wants. To just be here with me.
His thumb brushes past again, and a flutter stirs deep in my stomach. Then his hand slides over mine, weaving our fingers together before softly curling them closed.
I give his hand a squeeze.God, he’s given me so much.
He’s sacrificed his entire life for me these past few weeks, not to mention the five months before. He’s been showing up every single day, doing the work to be the best version of himself, while I drowned my feelings at the bottom of a glass, just like my dad.
Jensen was in rehab. In therapy. In the gym. Getting stronger in every way, and I was avoiding all of it. Venting to Leo and calling it therapy. Confiding in friends and asking them what to do instead of figuring out my own shit. He’s been doing everything in his control to make all this possible, and all I’ve done is show up.
I know it’s because I’ve got my own demons to face—and that I’ve been avoiding them while trying to rekindle what I have with Jensen. It feels counterproductive to dig into the hurt while I’m trying to hold space for love and forgiveness. I need therapy. I know I do. I’m just… not ready yet.
I’m not going to berate myself for it. I’ve learned to give myself grace. I am where I am, and I can live with that because I can’t change the past. I can only change right now, going forward. The future. But I owe him something. I can give more.
I shift slightly in his arms, my voice barely above a whisper. “Can I ask you something?”
He doesn’t move. Just smooths his thumb over mine. “Yeah, babe. Anything.”
I close my eyes briefly, the question heavy on my tongue. I just have to be brave enough to let it out…
“Will you tell me something about rehab?”
He stills. Even his breathing stops, and for a second, I wonder if I’ve upset him. If maybe he doesn’t want to talk about it. But then I remember, he asked me why I never ask about anything, that night he called about the edibles.
Finally, he takes a deep breath, his exhale warm against my head. “What do you want to know?”
“I don’t know… Will you tell me about your first day there?”
It’s quiet for a moment before he lets out a low hum. “The first day? I hardly remember it. Matt was there with me. Dropped me off. I was clean. I had to be for at least ten daysbefore checking in. Matt and Megan helped me detox.” He pauses. “Sorry, that’s not what you asked.”
His hand slips from mine, sliding low across my stomach. “First day felt really clinical. Check-in’s a blur. I had to give them my phone and my watch. I still didn’t feel great, even after two weeks clean. I was jet-lagged, still lacking nutrients… everything that makes you feel alive, you know? You were gone, I wasn’t eating much. Lost a ton of weight. I was weak.”
His fingers draw together and spread again, brushing softly over my skin. Heat seeps into my thighs, my attention splitting, half on his words, half on the way his touch makes it hard to breathe.
But I’m listening.
“We had lunch, then they showed me my room. It was really nice and had a large bathroom. But no TV, no lock on the doors. Every room had at least one big window. Mine had two since it sat on the corner. Then they ran a bunch of tests and labs. Honestly, I felt a little like a lab rat.
He shifts behind me, adjusting himself, his hand brushing over my hip.
“I met my counselors, my therapist. Got my daily schedule. Had a psychiatric evaluation. It was really rigorous. After dinner, they gave us downtime. I’d planned to go back to my room and be alone, but Max sat down across from me. He became my first friend there. He was from LA, youngest child in a wealthy family, mom who babied him. We clicked instantly. Even though we were both only half-alive at that point,” he chuckles, “we just got each other.”
His hand moves back to my arm, sliding over it until he finds my fingers. He weaves them with his, tugging me closer before continuing. “He had a fiancée and a baby. She walked out on him, took the baby, and he spiraled… Worse than I did. Woke up on the street one morning, tried to see his kid, and she wouldn’tlet him in. Then she filed a restraining order. That was his wake-up call.”
He falls quiet, and I can feel it,sense it,how close he is to breaking. I lean back, straining my neck to see him, then roll all the way over to face him. His arm slips around my waist as I shift, and my hand smooths up his chest, resting against his cheek.
“Hey… you okay?”
He swallows and nods, but his eyes shut and a tear falls.
“Fuck. Sorry.” He swipes it away, his lips trembling. “He relapsed. A few weeks ago. Ended up in the ER. Almost died.”
His voice cracks, and the sound splinters through me. The ache that hits isn’t just for his friend. It’s for him. For the possibility of loss.
But then panic slams into my chest, making it hard to breathe.This could be him.At any time. God.The what-if wraps around my throat, squeezing tight until it’s suffocating.
I force myself to form words. “Don’t be sorry,” I whisper.
He shakes it off. “I hadn’t heard from him in a few weeks, so I wondered if he’d fallen off, but then he texted me last week to say he was okay. That he was headed back to rehab.”
