That he hadn’t moved a muscle was telling. Dylan cupped his chin, stroking his cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Do you need some painkillers? I’ve got some paracetamol floating aroundsomewhere?”
“Allergic. Makes me sick as adog.”
“Ibuprofen?”
“Nah. I can’t do NSAIDs anymore. Gave myself a fucking ulcer with them lastyear.”
“That soundshorrible.”
Angelo winced. “It wasn’t pretty, but it was my own fault. I knew I was taking too much, and to be honest, it was the wake-up call I needed, even if it did bankrupt me?—?” Angelo broke off with a yawn. “Shit, sorry. I should probablygo.”
“Do you have to besomewhere?”
“No.”
“Then stay,” Dylansaid.
“That anorder?”
Dylan hadn’t meant it to be, but if his unintentional firmness made Angelo smile even a tiny bit, he’d roll with it. “Yes. I’m going to make some breakfast, and bring it in, and the only place you’re going is the bathroom... if you need to, uh, I can help youif?—?”
Angelo’s scowl cut him dead. “Dude, I can hold my owndick.”
Fair enough.Dylan slid out of bed. “Whatever. There’s plenty of towels and a spare toothbrush in the cabinet. Help yourself to anything you need, okay? I’ll be back with baconbutties.”
He left Angelo alone for a while and busied himself in the kitchen. Grilling bacon and buttering bread didn’t take all that long, but he took his time, giving Angelo some privacy, though he kept a sharp ear out when the shower turned on. Angelo had barely been able to walk the night before, and Dylan had practically carried him home. The thought of him falling was terrifying, and Dylan’s hands shook as he poured yet more tea.How did this happen so fast?Angelo had seemed fine all night?—his devilish grip on Dylan’s sweaty body as strong as ever. Unless Angelo was the world’s best actor, it didn’t make any sense. Armed with bacon, he put the question to Angelo when he returned to thebedroom.
Angelo shrugged. “Sometimes it creeps up on me and I can manage it, but it hit me like a train yesterday. I was fine in the club, but it’s been a long week, you know? Maybe I should’ve justwatched.”
He broke a tiny piece off the doorstep sandwich Dylan passed him and chewed slowly, water from the shower still glistening on his flawless back.How does he look so fucking edible right now?Dylan had no idea, and unbidden, his brain took him back to the club, to watching Angelo get blown by Rhys?—his fat cock sliding past Rhys’s full lips, his clenched fists and snatchedbreaths.
Stopit.
With a herculean effort, Dylan pushed the club aside and sat next to Angelo on the edge of the bed. “Is the ME why you had to retire fromdancing?”
“Yeah. You can’t dance if you can’t standup.”
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked, I’m just... I don’t know, curious, I guess? I knew I was missing something when you came to the office inStratford.”
Angelo coughed and set his half-eaten sandwich on the bedside table. “That was a good day, believe it ornot.”
Dylan swallowed the last bite of his own breakfast and with it, another barrage of questions. The desperate need to know as much about Angelo as possible was burning him up in all the wrong ways, but he’d pushed enough. Angelo was wrecked, and he owed Dylan nothing. “It’s pissing down outside. I was planning on staying in bed withPeaky Blinders. Yougame?”
“You want me to be? I’m not good company when I’m likethis.”
“Then sleep.” Dylan slipped his empty plate beneath Angelo’s and claimed a mug of tea that he wasdefinitelygoing to drink this time. “It’s a big bed, mate. Plenty of room fortwo.”
Perhaps Angelo would’ve taken more persuading if he hadn’t been so clearly dead on his feet, but it didn’t seem to matter as they huddled up together again. Dylan flicked Netflix on the TV, but neither of them looked at it and instead faced eachother.
“I got diagnosed in New York,” Angelo whispered. “I had a tiny surgery on my knee in the summer break, but the anaesthetic never went away. It was like it had latched onto my bones and wouldn’t let go. We were gearing up for a huge run ofSwan Lakeand I kept falling over. My balance was so fucked that they thought I had a brain tumour. Sometimes, I wish Ihad.”
It was the most he’d ever said at once. Dylan absorbed every word but could only think of one of his own. “Why?”
“Because my health insurance would’ve covered that, and I might have been able to salvage something of mylife.”
“Shit.” Dylan whistled. “You didn’t havecover?”
“For cancer, MS, narcolepsy, epilepsy, and everything else they tested me for, but not ME. It cost me thousands of dollars to get a diagnosis, and when I couldn’t afford to see any more doctors, I started on the painkillers and energy drinks to keep me upright. It was supposed to be a short-term plan while I saved up to get treatment, but it didn’t work out likethat.”
