“Come back,” he says.
“Why?”
“Just do it, mate. Please?”
I shuffle back to his side, close enough for him to reach out and brush his fingers over the back of my hand.
“You’re cold,” he says. “And you’re Ludo. I remember that.”
His speech slows with each word, and his head lolls on the pillow, eyes drooping, distant and glazed.
I chuckle softly, surprising myself. “You don’t seem like you’ll remember anything at all next time you wake up.”
“Nah, mate. I’ll remember you.”
* * *
Aidan
I’m still in hell. Caught between being in so much pain I’d rather eat my leg than endure it or being so stoned I have no clue where I am. The surgery is scheduled for a few days’ time, and it can’t come soon enough. Not that I’m expecting to get through it without a rerun of vomit-gate. Or being off my face on morphine.
You fucking pussy.
The food is shite too. I shove the plate of greasy chips away and rub a hand down my face. Then, as has become my habit over the last few days, I steal a glance at the bed opposite. Ludo is asleep, hooked up to an IV I can’t remember being there the last time I checked in, which is generally every ten minutes when I’m awake.
Nonplussed, I look away. I can’t figure out if my fascination with Ludo is boredom induced, a side effect of too much morphine, or linked to the lingering sensation of his cool palm against my cheek. Becausefuck, there are a hundred gaps in my recent memories, but I can’t get that shit out of my mind. Over and over I try to picture how the scene played out—me puking with Ludo trying to help me—but every image I conjure up makes me shudder in horror.
He saw me being sick.
For reasons I can’t understand, it feels like the worst thing in the world.
I shift, trying to get comfortable. The incision in my ribcage is sore, but I can live with it. The pain in my leg, though... that shit is unreal. Coping with it takes up most of my time, and studying Ludo has become my favourite distraction. Especially when he’s asleep and can’t outstare me with his bottomless gaze.
The only other man I’ve ever watched sleep is my father. Weathered face, dirty hair. Reeking of whisky, cigarettes, and rage. By contrast, Ludo is angelic, his features boyish and smooth against dark hair tipped with white blond—a grown out bleach job. He’s restless too, even as he sleeps, muttering and twitching. I wonder if he’s dreaming... or stuck in a nightmare. Because that’s the other thing about Ludo: wide and framed by thick lashes, his eyes are the most disturbed I’ve ever seen. I can’t imagine him having pleasant dreams.
“Aidan?”
“What?” I glance up, unable to keep the habitual growl out of my voice.
The ward sister—the one with the good drugs—raises a brow. “Your cousin is here. It’s not visiting hours for a while, but if you’re quiet, I can sneak him in.”
Michael. I suppress a sigh. Days have become a blur, and I have little idea how long I’ve been flat on my back, but Michael’s appearance is inevitable. Of course it is. My life has gone to shit, and heknowshow much I love an audience.
Not.
“Tell him to do one, will ya? I’m not in the mood to be lectured.”
The sister twitches her eyebrow higher. “I can do that, but don’t you think it would be nice to have some company for a while? It might take your mind off your discomfort.”
“If that’s what you think, then you don’t know my cousin.”
“I know him well enough to tell you he’s been here every day since you were brought in. That must count for something.”
I prefer the nurses who don’t talk to me. It might be a coincidence, but they seem to have gentler hands too. Whatever. The sister is still frowning, lips pursed, hands on her hips.
She ain’t going nowhere, boy.
Wow. I flinch. It’s been a long time since I last heard my father’s voice in my head.These drugs are messed up.“Fuck it. I don’t care.”
