There’s still pain in his expression, but he holds my gaze, and the corner of his mouth twitches up ever so slightly. “And did you cut the sandwiches into triangles like your mom always does?”
“Of course,” I say with a fake scoff, setting the tray down on the bed. “Any other way would be completely wrong and affect the whole sandwich-eating experience.”
“Right.”
I’m grinning now, and he is, too, and for a brief moment, everything feels kind of okay again. I climb onto the bed, careful not to make the mattress shift too much, and I settle next to him with my back against the wall. Then I slide the tray over between us, turning it so his plate is closer to him.
“See? Perfect triangles,” I say, motioning to his plate.
He squints and leans over. “I dunno. This one here—slightly smaller than the others. Might need to send it back to the kitchen.” With a smirk, he glances up at me.
“Guess you’ll have to taste it and see.”
We start eating, and I’m glad to see he actually does have an appetite. He eats slowly, though, and I try not to show that I’m noticing every stiff movement he makes, every wince or flinch, every sharp breath. Heishurting, even if he doesn’t want to admit it to me.
That’s okay, I tell myself. And I close my eyes and lean my head back against the wall. He’ll tell me when he’s ready to.
“Thank you,” he says quietly after a few more minutes.
I turn my head toward him as he awkwardly pushes the now-empty tray out of the way and then scoots himself over closer to me. He doesn’t look at me, his gaze focused somewhere between us on the bed, but he moves closer all the same. My heart aches andsoars simultaneously, and I want nothing more than to hold him in my arms. Cautiously, I lift my arm up in invitation, giving him a spot to cuddle against me. He pauses, but only briefly, and then he lets out a shuddering breath and scoots over the rest of the way. I feel all the tension in him, even as he leans into me and rests his head in the crook of my shoulder, his hand coming to settle on my stomach.
I wish I could just chase it all away.
Gently, I settle my arm across his shoulders, and then I tilt my head and press a kiss into his hair. “I’m glad the triangles were cut to your satisfaction,” I tease.
His body shakes with a weak laugh. “They were perfect.”
“Good.” I kiss him again, then let my head fall against his, closing my eyes.
We stay like that for a few long minutes, and eventually, his shoulders relax, his breathing deepens, and his hand slides lower until it’s quietly resting on my thigh.
He’s asleep.
I hold back a smile, but I feel it in my heart—how much I love him. If this is what he needs from me—to just be here, to hold him, to take care of him, to let him open up in his own time, when he’s ready—then I’m here for it.
I’m here for all of it.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Nico
WhenIwakeup,it’s warm. And I’m comfortable in a way I can’t explain. It’s calm—around me and in my head. Nothing’s screaming. My heart’s not racing. The dreadful, cold numbness isn’t spreading from my hands.
Alex’s arm tightens around my shoulders. “Good afternoon, sleepyhead,” he murmurs into my hair with a light laugh.
I just sigh into him. I don’t want to move from this spot, snuggled up against his chest. And he doesn’t seem to want to, either. His free hand covers mine, which rests about midway up his thigh, and he caresses softly just past my wrist and then back to my knuckles.
I’m not sure what feels better—how he’s holding me or how he’s touching me.
Both make me feel loved.
I sniffle and squeeze my eyes shut, cursing inwardly as I try desperately not to cry. It’s overwhelming—this feeling. It’s overwhelming and depressing at the same time, because I’m immediately reminded of yesterday and how little my mom must think of me. How little she must love me.
She had to have set me up; she had to have known how terrifying it would be for me to face Patrick, and yet, that was whatshe forced me into. That and not fucking caring enough to even give me a warning about changing the price of the car. I’ve told her how much money I’m making and how little I have. She knows I’m struggling.
But she doesn’t seem to give a damn.
She doesn’t seem to love me at all.
