She’d brushed it off earlier, called it “a little pain,” but the color in her face told me otherwise.
When I came back into the living room, she was curled on the couch exactly where I’d left her, one hand pressed to her stomach, the heating pad glowing faintly beneath the blanket.
She looked small there. Too small. And something in my chest tightened the way it always did when I saw someone hurting and couldn’t immediately fix it. Maybe it was just the way I was wired, loss and blame did things to a man that couldnever be undone. I’ve never been good at standing by while someone suffered, not after standing by meant losing Elena. That urge to take care of things, to push down fear with action, always flared sharpest when it was someone I cared about.
Control has a way of digging in when fear shows up.
“Hey,” I said quietly, stepping closer. “You okay?”
Her eyes fluttered open, glassy from exhaustion. “Hi. Yeah. Just worse than I thought.”
“You sure you don’t need to go to the hospital?”
She shook her head immediately. “It’s not that kind of pain. Just… the kind that makes you wish your insides had an off switch.”
I crouched in front of her. “You take anything?”
She blinked. Then swore softly under her breath.
“I tried Tylenol,” she whispered. “My other meds are at Cami’s. I left them in her bathroom this morning.” She pressed a hand to her stomach, wincing.
“Come on,” I said gently, holding out a hand.
She blinked. “Where?”
“A bath,” I said. “Hot water will help.”
She hesitated. I saw it in the way she measured whether it was okay to need someone, whether she was asking for too much just by accepting help. That look hits me harder than pain ever could.
“C’mon Darlin’,” I added softly. “Let me.”
After a long moment, she sighed and slipped her hand into mine.
Her hand was cool against mine as I guided her down the hallway to my bathroom, keeping my tone light. “You’re supposed to tell people when you’re hurting, you know.”
“Not really my style,” she said with a weak laugh.
“Yeah, I figured,” I murmured, flipping on the bathroom light.
I started the water, adjusting the tap until steam began to rise. I tested it a couple of times, careful to get the temperature just right, because I’ve never trusted it enough when it comes to people I care about.
The mirror fogged from the humidity as I tested the water, waiting for it to reach that perfect, soothing heat. Steam filled the room, curling around us, warming my face in a way that echoed the comfort I wanted to give Dani.
“Alright,” I said. “Bath’s ready. Towels are in the cabinet. Take your time, okay?”
She nodded, leaning on the counter for balance. “You don’t have to take care of me, you know?”
“I know,” I said gently, trying to be mindful of my tone. “But I want to.”
For a second, she just looked at me, and I could see it in her eyes, that mix of pride and gratitude and pain.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“Anytime,” I said, meaning it more than I should.
She studied me like she wanted to argue again, and instead nodded and closed the door.
I waited long enough to hear the water shift, then the airy hiss in her breathing when the heat hit her skin, before I stepped back into the hallway and grabbed my keys.
