Étienne stood up, grabbed the pill bottle, and held it out to me. “Take. The fucking. Pain meds.”
“No.”
“Marco, what is going on with you?”
Everything. Nothing. A lifetime of hiding and one moment of medication-induced honesty that had terrified me into never wanting to take those pills again.
“I don’t like how they make me feel,” I said finally.
“They make you feel not in agony. That’s the entire point.”
“They make me feel… out of control.”
Understanding flickered across his face. “I get that. But you need them. At least for another day or two.S’il te plaît.Please.”
The please did it. That and the genuine concern in his eyes, the way he was looking at me like my pain hurt him too.
“Fine,” I said. “But you have to promise me something.”
“What?”
“If I act loopy or do anything embarrassing or whatever, just ignore it. Blame the drug.”
He studied me for a long moment. “Okay. I promise.”
I took the pill, swallowed it down with the water he handed me, and waited for the inevitable loosening.
Étienne settled on the couch beside me, close enough that we touched. Close enough that I could feel his warmth, smell his body wash, notice the way his T-shirt pulled across his abs.
The medication hit fast. Faster than before. The pain receded and that dangerous, floaty feeling came back, making everything soft and hazy.
“Need anything?” Étienne asked.
“No. I’m good.”
His hand landed on my knee. Just resting there, a casual contact we’d shared hundreds of times before.
Except this time, with the medication stripping away my defenses, my body reacted.
Heat spread from where he touched me, racing up my leg, pooling in my groin. My breath caught. I responded in a way I absolutely could not hide if this continued.
Panic cut through the medication fog.
“Bathroom,” I said abruptly. “Need to—bathroom.”
“You want help?”
“No!” Too sharp. I forced myself to breathe. “No, I’ve got it. Just need a minute.”
I grabbed my crutches and levered myself off the couch, ignoring the pain that flared in my foot, because getting away was more important than anything else. I made it to the half bath downstairs, locked the door, and leaned against it.
My heart was racing. My body was still responding to that single touch, to his proximity, to the medication making it impossible to control my physical reactions.
If he hadn’t already, he was going to notice, and then what?
Then everything would fall apart. I’d lose my best friend, lose the person who mattered most to me.
I ran cold water in the sink, splashed it on my face. Triedto think through the medication, through the panic, through the want I’d kept buried for so long.
