Chapter 11
Nick
Iwoke to darkness and the sound of Dante’s labored breathing. Panic shot through me as I sat up, my hand instinctively reaching for him.
“Dante? You okay?”
“Fine,” he gasped, but his voice was tight with pain. “Just... need to shift position. Ribs are killing me.”
I fumbled for the bedside lamp, flooding the room with light. His face was pale, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. The medication must’ve worn off.
“When did you last take your pills?”
“Before I fell asleep. What time is it?”
I glanced at the clock. Nearly midnight. I’d slept for hours, and from the looks of it, so had he. “Time for another dose. Don’t move.”
I slid off the bed, my own body protesting the movement. My shoulder had stiffened up while I slept, and I had to bite back a groan as I headed for the kitchen. The tiny house was dark except for the light spilling from the bedroom, casting long shadows across the floor.
I grabbed his medication and a fresh glass of water, my mind still foggy with sleep. When I returned, Dante had managed toprop himself up slightly against the pillows, though the effort had clearly cost him.
“Here.” I handed him the pills and watched as he swallowed them. “You need to eat something too. The meds work better with food.”
“Not hungry.”
“I don’t give a fuck. Doctor’s orders.” I headed back to the kitchen before he could argue. There wasn’t much in the fridge. We’d been meaning to go shopping before the accident happened. But I found some bread, cheese, and the leftover roast beef from two nights ago.
I threw together a sandwich, my hands moving on autopilot while my brain tried to catch up with reality. I’d fallen asleep in Dante’s bed. Holding his hand. And instead of feeling horrified or ashamed, I just felt...settled. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.
What the hell was happening to me?
I brought the sandwich back to the bedroom, along with some water. Dante eyed it skeptically.
“I’m really not?—”
“Eat it or I’m calling the hospital and telling them you’re not following medical advice.”
His lips twitched into something that might’ve been a smile. “You’re bossy when you’re worried.”
“I’m not worried.”
“Liar.” But he took the sandwich, managing a few bites before setting it aside. “Happy now?”
“Thrilled.” I sat back down in the chair, suddenly aware of the awkwardness between us. The intimacy of a few hours ago had evaporated, leaving behind the uncomfortable reality of what we were. “You should try to sleep some more. The medication will kick in soon.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll stay until you’re out, then I need to check on a few things outside.”
“Nick.” His hand reached out, hovering in the space between us. “You don’t have to keep doing this. I know you have your own shit to deal with.”
I stared at his outstretched hand, at the silent invitation. I could pull away now, rebuild those walls, go back to the careful distance we’d maintained. It would be smart. Safe.
Instead, I took his hand for some fucking reason. Maybe just to keep him complacent, I told myself.
“Get some rest, Dante.”
His eyes held mine for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in their dark depths. Then he gave my hand a gentle squeeze before releasing it.
