What if Marcus was up there holding that baby right now? Smiling and being steady. Like he was with me.
That little voice whispered that Marcus deserved something… whole. Something unbroken.
Not me.
I closed my eyes and exhaled through my nose. “Stop it,” I whispered under my breath, grippingthe mug. I could feel the edges of my spiral still hovering close, but I wasn’t going to let them take me under again. Not after all this time.
Alex, still behind the counter, glanced my way like he heard something in my silence, but didn’t push. Instead, he just refilled his coffee. “Merry Christmas, Tyler.”
I forced a small smile. “Merry Christmas.”
He gestured to a notice that I’d seen last night. “Group at eleven, but the rest of the day is yours. Is there anything you want to do? I know a few of the guys are setting up poker later.”
Mostly, I wanted to see Marcus, and as if I’d manifested him, he arrived in the kitchen, his entrance quiet but grounding. He bumped my elbow as he passed, the familiar gesture loaded with the kind of affection we kept behind closed doors. His eyes found mine, and he sent me a smile, one filled with love that went bone-deep.
I knew we were a secret, knew we had to be careful around everyone else, but right then, standing there with anxiety twisting in my gut, I wanted more than quiet glances and passing touches. I needed him. I needed his arms around me, the solid reassurance of his embrace, the pressof his lips against mine to remind me that I wasn’t falling apart.
Fuck, I’m messing this up.
Marcus paused for half a second, studying me. His smile didn’t falter, but I saw the shift in his eyes—the quiet way he clocked the tension in my shoulders, the too-tight grip I had on my coffee mug, the way my breathing wasn’t even.
“You okay?” he asked.
I forced another weak smile. “Yeah,” I whispered, but I didn’t sound convincing.
His hand ghosted over the small of my back, a gentle brush and a silent promise:We’ll talk. I see you.
“My shoulder hurts,” I blurted, the words tumbling out faster than I intended. Marcus’s brow furrowed instantly, his attention sharpening. “For real,” I added, my voice dropping to a whisper, the vulnerability slipping through despite my attempt to keep it steady.
He didn’t hesitate. I watched his entire posture shift, the easy smile replaced by quiet focus, calm and professional. His hand hovered like he wanted to touch me but thought better of it in front of everyone. “Let me grab my coffee, and we’ll head to the medical room; I’ll take a look, okay?”
His voice was warm and soothing, as though hewas already wrapping me in safety before even laying a hand on me. Hearing it helped settle some of the swirling panic inside.
We didn’t speak as we made our way down the hall and into the small medical room. The air was cooler in here, the faint scent of antiseptic in my nose. The second the door clicked shut behind us, I let out a breath.
Marcus set his coffee aside and turned to me, his voice quiet, steady. “Let me see.”
I eased the sweater over my head, conscious of how my hands trembled. The chill of the room kissed my skin, causing goosebumps to rise across the unscarred parts of my chest. But Marcus’s gaze wasn’t cold. Never was.
I didn’t want another graft. I didn’t want to go through it again. The surgeries, the pain, the weeks of healing, the vulnerability of being back under the knife. I wasn’t sure I had it in me to face it all over. Each time it took something from me and left me feeling raw and exposed. Peeled apart and sewn back together, piece by jagged piece. And no matter how much everyone told me I was brave, all I felt was exhausted.
He stepped closer, eyes scanning the newest of the grafts that I’d had done before I ended up onthe streets, with that professional calm that never once made me feel like a specimen. His fingertips brushed along the edge of the irritated skin—gentle, clinical, but full of care. I tried not to flinch, but I couldn’t stop my breathing from quickening.
“It’s a little inflamed,” he murmured, eyes narrowing as he assessed. “There’s some swelling here, warmth too.” He glanced up, catching my eye. “When did you notice?”
“This morning,” I said. My voice sounded too small, too fragile for my liking. “In the shower.”
“Any discharge? Fever? Chills?”
I shook my head. “No… feels wrong, is all.”
He nodded, lips pressing together. “You did well to catch it early. Probably a localized reaction—could be a minor irritation or a low-grade infection starting.” He moved toward the cabinet, pulling out supplies. “I’m going to clean it, start you on antibiotics, and keep a close eye on it. We’ll stay ahead of it.”
I swallowed hard, blinking fast against the sting behind my eyes. “I’m sorry.”
Marcus paused mid-reach and turned to face me fully. “Hey.” His voice was full of warmth and certainty. “You have nothing to apologize for, Ty.”
I looked away, jaw tight, but Marcus stepped in closer, hand rising to cup the side of my face.
