I blink again and Dante’s clammy hand is no longer in mine.
Another slow blink.
Tilting my head to the side I steal one last look of Dante, finding his glassy eyes already staring back at me. When I reach my hand out, our fingers just barely graze before the last blink steals me away.
Beep.Beep. Beep.
Oh my God, my head hurts something fierce. Worse than when I take one of those random pills at the club. Deja vu. Also, my mouth tastes like ass—not in a good way—and it’s dry as fuck. It takes every ounce of energy to blink my dry, crusty eyes open. Someone gasps sharply and then Mason is leaning over me, eyes red-rimmed from crying, and bottom lip caught between his teeth.
“Jesus, Reid.” Mason reaches a shaky hand out to touch me, but retracts it quickly. After taking a deep breath, he reaches out to softly touch my hand where it lies over the fluffy white blanket. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“What happened?”
Mason’s breath trembles. “You lost a lot of blood, we didn’t realize how bad your cuts were until you passed out beside Dante. I donated some to you, we’re the same blood type.”
I blink slowly at him. “Will I be afraid of germs now too?”
Mason’s face is stoic for one long moment, before he erupts into relieved laughter. “No, Reid.”
His hand is warm over mine, so I flip my hand over to tangle our fingers together. I don’t think I’ve touched Mason’s skin since we were children, since before his childhood cancer.
“I’m sorry to scare you.”
Mason’s smile is so warm. “Hush, you’re okay now.”
“I’m thirsty.”
Mason bends to the side to grab a Styrofoam cup off the table by my bed. The room I’m in doesn’t seem to be a hospital room, instead decorated like an upscale hotel room. All the memories from the past few days come rushing back, making me gasp as my free hand flies to my stomach. I wince when I press too hard, flaring the tenderness of my wounds. Mason shushes me again and raises the cup to my lips so I can take a sip from the straw.
“Where’s Dante?” I ask once I’ve decimated the cup of water.
“In the room next door,” Mason replies quickly. “He’s okay.”
“I need to see him… take me to him. Please.”
Mason looks like he’s going to argue with me for a long moment, until giving in at whatever look he sees on my face. It takes a while to get me sitting up, the wounds on my abdomen still tender and covered in bandages. We shuffle toward the door that must connect our bedrooms with Mason carefully dragging along the IV stand beside me. Mason knocks on the door and it’s opened a second later by a worried-looking Parker. But he doesn’t clock me first, instead his gaze falls on Mason, relief washing over him when hefinds Mason okay. I don’t know what that’s about, don’t really care right now, I just have to get to Dante.
Parker takes over for Mason to help me shuffle toward the bed. Dante lies so still, face so pale, tattoos a stark color against his skin. Without asking, without hesitation, I climb into the empty side of the bed. I curl up on my side, close enough to hopefully bleed some of my warmth into him. The IV painfully tugs at my arm as I sift my fingers through Dante’s dirty curls, fingers catching on the strands caked with his blood.
“Dante, come back to me,” I whisper against his ear. “I love you too, you fucking asshole.”
“Yeah?” comes a quiet voice.
I freeze. Lifting up slightly onto my elbow, I look down at a very clearly awake Dante.
“You fucking asshole!”
His hand reaches out to grab my wrist, tugging me down until my chest is pressed against his arm, but my stomach isn’t touching him anywhere. Dante stares at me for one long moment, eyelashes fanning across his cheek with each slow blink.
“Say it again,” Dante orders tiredly.
“You fucking asshole?”
Dante suddenly looks very exhausted. “No, you know what I want.”
“I love you, jerk.”
“Come here.” Dante tugs me closer until he can kiss me softly, his eyes closed tight while I watch his eyes crinkle with love just from our kiss. “Be a good boy and take a nap with me.”
