But it isn’t enough to explain why I’m still here. Especially when I can’t rationalize it to myself.
Kai is sleeping in the armchair by the fire I quietly threw an extra log on. His soft snore is…reassuring. And I take a moment to study his face. He has such strong cheekbones, and long dark lashes.
We don’t expect anything from you. Not me. Not Garrett. We just…we like having you around.
There’s an intimacy to his words. One that hints at more. But that can’t be right.
I collect the bowl from the floor next to him and place it by the sink.
There’s a thud upstairs, followed by a loud “Fuck.”
I pour some soup into a bowl, grab a spoon, and head up to Garrett’s room. This time, I find Garrett awake and leaning gingerly toward the floor to pick his phone off the ground.
“Wait,” I say. “Don’t strain yourself. I’ll get it for you.”
He flops back onto the bed. “Thank you.”
I place the soup on the bedside table and grab the phone before handing it to him. “How are you feeling?”
Garrett’s earnest hazel eyes meet mine. “Like I got run over.”
“Do you need some of the…?” I point to the door where the gas cylinders sit out in the hall because I can’t remember what the gas is called.
He shakes his head. “Nah. Made me feel ill.”
Silence falls between us, as I stand a couple of feet away from the bed. My skin prickles with the awareness of him. The sheets sit low on Garrett’s hips, his chest exposed. His ink is old school. Poorly done, like those cheap tattoos done with pen ink. His shoulders are wide, his forearms thick with veins. And a thatch of hair spreads across his chest.
His body is powerful and muscular, meant for aggression. His abs aren’t as fully defined, and yet, the dip of his muscles beneath the sheets is frighteningly delicious.
When I glance to his face, he’s watching me. Not in the hungry way men have before, not in the entitled way I learned how to not flinch away from. But a curious way that is assessing without judging.
“I don’t bite,” Garrett says. “At least, not without consent. You can come closer.”
I relax my shoulders and take a few steps to the bed. “I brought you soup.”
He cracks a half smile. “I saw.”
“I didn’t know if you were hungry.”
Garrett glances toward the bowl. “I’m not sure if I am either. It sure smells good. But the idea of moving to eat it is more than I think I can deal with.”
His voice sounds rougher than usual. Maybe it’s just as a result of pain and medication. Perhaps it’s that my senses are heightened because of everything that has happened today.Or maybe it’s because, right now, we’re alone in his dimly lit bedroom and there’s nothing between us except a blanket, that bowl of soup, and a silver spoon.
I clear my throat. “Do you…want me to help you sit?”
His eyes flick down to his chest and bandaged wrist. “That’d be good, if you don’t mind.”
Do I mind? I offered before I’d thought it through. It will mean getting hold of his naked chest. But this is different. He’s sick and needs help. This isn’t some biker in the clubhouse, so deep in his cups that he can’t remember if I’m Isla or Petunia.
“Of course.”
I step closer and slide my arm behind his shoulder. His skin is warm and soft to the touch, solid in all the ways I’ve thought he was. Like a brick wall covered in pillows.
“Does this hurt?” I ask as I hold him tightly.
“No.”
But he winces as we shift.
