“Help me sit up first. If I pass out, catch me before my face smacks the tray table.”
He moves to the bedside, careful and hesitant, making me trust him more than confidence would. One arm supports my back. The other braces near my elbow. I push up and the whole room swings wide, walls bending, floor pitching under the bed.
A low sound escapes me.
Alek freezes. “Too fast.”
“Not your fault.” I swallow hard. “Give it a second.”
My gown hangs open in humiliating places. I tug at it and look away.
He reaches for the scrubs and sets them in my lap with studied concentration, eyes anywhere but my chest. “Top first?”
I nod.
Pulling the gown off takes longer than it should. My arms shake halfway through. The room sways again. He steadies me with one hand between my shoulder blades, then steps back the instant he can.
No grabbing. No opportunistic glance. No weirdness.
By the time I get the scrub top over my head, sweat dampens my hairline and my vision has gone grainy. The pants are worse. I nearly tip sideways trying to thread one foot through.
Alek catches my forearm. “Sit. Please.”
I do as he asks.
The edge in his voice carries more fear than irritation. For me, not for himself.
I stare at the floor while the dizziness passes. “I never paid rent this month.”
He goes still.
“I’m gonna lose everything.” The words spill once I start. “I can’t work. I can’t bartend. I can’t busk. Zane said he’d hold my job at The Mission, which is amazing, except I can’t even stand without seeing stars. My market spot is gone if someone else slid into it already and my guitar has been stolen anyway. My landlord won’t care why I’m late. He’ll slap a notice on my door and move on.”
A tear slips free and tracks hot down my cheek before I can wipe it.
Pathetic. I hate crying in front of anyone.
Alek kneels in front of me, not touching me, barely in my line of sight. “Hey.”
“Please don’t tell me not to worry.” I scrub the tear away with the heel of my hand.
“Wasn’t going to.” He waits until I look at him. Then he reaches out and takes my hand. “We’re in this together now.”
No grand speech. No heroic nonsense. No promise he can fix every broken piece of my life.
One word.
Together.
It should comfort me more than it does. Instead it scares the hell out of me.
Two days ago he was a face in the crowd. Now he’s the man holding my hand in a hospital room while I get dressed to move in with him under a lie big enough to ruin us both.
I squeeze my eyes shut against another wave of dizziness.
Please let him be real.
Please let me not be stupid enough to mistake decency for salvation.
