Stepping into the bathroom, my heart sinks when I see two open bottles of pain meds. Nothing crazy—just Excedrin and Tylenol. But why are they open? And why are there wads of tissue in the sink, stiff with dried blood? I toss those in the trash and close the bottles, then look under the sink, finding a red canvas bag next to some folded towels. Bingo.
Vince is still holding the paper towels to his head when I return. He barely moves as I step around him, then kneel in front of him.
“Okay, let me see.”
“I told you, I’m fine.” Apparently two minutes of rest was enough to put some fight back into him.
I glare at him. “And I told you,you’re not. I’m not leaving until I know you’re okay, Vince.”
He rolls his eyes.
“Please. Just humor me, okay? You could have a concussion. I played football in high school. I know the signs.”
He sighs.
As he pulls his hand away, I notice some blood at the edge of his beard. I’ve never seen Vince with a beard before. He’s usually clean shaven and meticulously crisp.
“I like the beard,” I say, trying to cheer him up. “Looks good on you.”
He doesn’t reply.
Using the wet paper towel, I clean up the last of the blood. His skin is warm under my hand. Almost too warm.
It’s a long few seconds before he says in a low tone, “Don’t trust myself shaving anymore.”
His tone is full of something I can’t possibly understand. Shame, maybe?
I lean back to see him better, but he doesn’t elaborate, darting his attention away.
I cover his wound with a bandage, then sit back on my heels. “There. Good as new.”
He doesn’t look at me.
I stay crouched in front of him. “Now talk to me. What happened out there?”
“I told you, I slipped.”
“No more bullshit, Vince. Something’s going on with you, and that’s why you fell.”
His jaw ticks, and raw emotion flickers in his eyes—fear, frustration, pride. But he still doesn’t look at me.
I don’t push. I just wait.
He sighs. “My doctor thinks it’s MS, but I won’t know for certain until I see the specialist.”
My eyes widen. “MS? As in—”
“Multiple sclerosis, yeah.” The words come out heavy, like it’s the first time he’s said them out loud.
I touch his leg, needing the support just as much as he would. “Oh, damn.”
No wonder he’s in pain all the time. MS attacks the nerves. I don’t know much about the illness, but I do know that.
“And no one knows about it, do they? Declan? Piper?”
His jaw ticks again. “There’s no point in telling them. Not until I know for certain.”
“Vince, come on. They care about you.”
