“You know,” I keep talking. “Since the day I moved back here, I’ve heard you talk so much about men being allowed to feel their feelings, and not being like our fathers, and all that stuff. But it feels like you think that’s true for everyone except you. Talking to someone might help you figure that out.”
“Okay,” he says. “I guess I always thought therapy was for rich people, but you’re right. It has helped you a lot.” Cade stares at me like he just realized something. “Don’t let Tristan send me to fucking rehab, though. If he gets the thought in his head, nothing will stop him, and I promise I do not need it. I admit I need help, but not that kind of help. I’ve just made shitty choices all over this week.”
I can’t decide whether it’s worth disagreeing with him or not. Because yeah, he’s been bad this week. But this isn’t the only time he’s turned to drinking when he’s upset. But it’s never seemed out of control until the past few days, and maybe if he stops bottling all his shit up, he’ll be smarter about that, too.
“Fine,” I say. “I’ll protect you from Tristan’s wrath. As long as you start therapy and take it seriously, and stop screwing around. But I will tell on you so fast if you start acting shady again, y’hear? I am not too proud to run to him for help. We’ve established that.”
There’s a ghost of a smile on Cade’s face. Then he seems to wilt in front of my eyes.
“Can we talk more later? I’m so tired,” he says, and his voice is even weaker and raspier than before.
“Yeah, of course. Hopefully we’ll find out soon how long you need to be here for.”
I shuffle lower on the bed, stretching out my legs and then gently rearranging Cade until he’s lying on me the way he likes.
“Go to sleep, baby. I’m right here.”
He snuggles down deeper into my chest, his fingers absently tightening and relaxing against me where he’s holding on.
“Thank you for hanging around, even when things were fucked,” he murmurs into my shirt.
“Always.”
I kiss the top of his head one more time, and stroke up and down his back as he drifts off. It’s the first time I’ve felt any kind of peace in months.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“It feels like they let you out really fast. Having a hole in your lung sounds like it should be a bigger deal. Shouldn’t they do surgery or something?”
Silas has his arm around my waist to steady me as we finally walk into the house. I don’t really need it, I can walk fine, thank fuck, but I kind of want it. I never thought I’d be into being babied other than after some buck-nasty sex, but since we talked yesterday, I’ve forced myself to accept it and it’s actually kind of nice.
Silas is warm and solid and keeps treating me like I’m made of spun glass. It’s a hell of a change from running away from him all the time. And only one of those will cause the downfall of the best thing to ever happen to me.
“I’m fine, baby. I spent 24 hours in care, I’m breathing good on room air, it was just a teeny tiny hole and it’s already healing itself. Honestly, my ribs hurt way more, but what are you gonna do? And my wrist. And my head. But it’ll be fine.”
“Yeah,” he says, frowning at me. “I’m worried about your head, too. The doctor gave me the head injury instructions by the way, so don’t think you can EMT your way out of it. No TV. No phone. Dim lights. Plenty of rest. I know your poor, understimulated little heart might burst, but it’s better than making your brain even worse, so we’re following the rules.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I’m smiling, though, because it feels so goddamn good for him to not be mad at me, anymore. I forgot how good this feels. I will do absolutely anything to keep it. “You’re gonna have to read me a bedtime story then, because I’m not going to just sit here in silence like a psychopath.”
Silas snorts.
“I sit in silence all the time. We’re just on different ends of the weird-brain spectrum. Now sit. I’ll get you some water.”
Silas deposits me on the couch, leaving all the lights off so it’s dim in the cold, afternoon winter light. I reach out and make grabby hands at him though, before he goes into the kitchen.
“I don’t want water. Come snuggle with me.”
Silas looks at me like I’m being ridiculous, which I am, but hey, he wanted me to be soft and squishy and vulnerable. This is what he gets.
And I know he secretly loves it, because he joins me on the couch in about four seconds and then carefully arranges me until I’m draped over him.
“I don’t know any bedtime stories, Cade. And it’s the middle of the day.”
His voice is gruff, but he gives me another one of those tender head kisses he’s been liberal with ever since I got hospitalized.
“We could just talk,” I say. “I’ll even shut my eyes. It feels like forever since we talked about anything other than sex or arguments or what to have for dinner.”
There’s a long pause while we both ruminate on what to say, and Silas ends up being the one to break the silence.
