“What? I—oh.” Right. Because he couldn’t see, and I was blind, and…yeah. “No. I’m a friend.”
“Oh,” she said, her voice filled with surprise.
I guess it was weird that a guy who lost his sight from a head injury would have a blind friend. Was that irony? Coincidence? I never did understand the difference.
Clearing my throat, I stretched out a hand. “So, can we go, or…”
“Right. How would you like me to assist?”
“I’ll take your shoulder,” I told her.
Annoyingly, she picked up my hand without asking and dropped it on her shoulder, but I let that one slide. It was hard to give a shit when she finally started walking and the distance between me and Alexio was finally closing. I didn’t know if it would last, but god, Micah was right in pointing out that I was a dipshit who hadn’t even tried.
This was the worst time not to be a stubborn bastard and insist on getting my way.
“He’s right inside here,” the nurse said, and I took my hand away. “If you’d like me to help you in…”
“No. Uh…no. That’s…I’ll be fine. Is he awake?”
“He is. Please call if you need anything.”
I made my way around her, pushing the door all the way open. I could hear faint beeping and strange machine noises. And then the sound of someone’s body shifting on sheets.
“Nikos? I thought you went home.”
“It’s, uh…it’s me.”
My words were met with a heavy silence.
“You can throw me out if you want, but I needed to see for myself that you were alive since you wouldn’t goddamn let me in here.” Oh. Shit. I was angry, and I hadn’t realized it until now. My temper was rising, and I tried to breathe through it as I made my way further into the room.
My cane swept from right to left, hitting what was probably a chair, then some kind of standing object. And then the bed.
I heard him jolt at the sound.
“I don’t know what the fuck I did to offend you so badly that you’d keep me away?—”
“I,” he said. His voice was raspy. “I didn’t…”
“What? Think I could handle it?” I demanded.
He let out a sharp breath. “I didn’t thinkIcould. This is fucking terrifying, Jonah, and the last thing I wanted was to hear you tell me that it was going to be okay. That I’d fucking adapt. That I could, I don’t know, go play blind hockey or?—”
“Are youseriousright now?” Yeah. Now I was extra pissed. “You think I was going to be that goddamn blasé about you getting your literal lights knocked out?”
He said nothing.
My fingers found the railing on his bed, and I traced my way up until I was near his head.
“You thought I’d be like, oh, it’s fine, come play blind hockey after serious injury? I thought you were fucking dying! I thought—” My voice cracked, and I stopped. I didn’t want him to hear me break down like this. I swallowed several times in a row. “I thought I was never going to see you again.”
He shifted. “I’m sorry. I…I didn’t think. I’m so fucking scared, Jonah. They still can’t tell me if it’s going to get better or not.”
I immediately softened. He sounded so wounded—in so fucking much pain. I set my cane against the wall, then traced my fingertips around until I found his arm. It was lined with IV tubes, so I kept my touch gentle as I linked my fingers with him, and he squeezed as tight as he could manage, which was nowhere near his usual strength.
I hated that. So fucking much.
But I knew that wasn’t forever.
