Eddie shook his head. “Which is absurd, at this point. With this much evidence, denying he’s not straight is futile, but the palace has not given him permission yet.”
That did seem ridiculous, but what did I know? Crisis management was not my forte, especially not at that level.
“How’s your mom?” Eddie asked, redirecting the conversation. “How’s her treatment going?”
I’d gotten an update from home yesterday, and for once, it had been cautiously positive news. “Better, actually. She’s done with this round of chemo and the scans showed the remaining tumors responded well. Doctor says if this trend continues, they might be able to reduce the frequency of treatments after this round.”
“That’s wonderful news,” Eddie said, and the genuine happiness in his voice made that twist in my chest intensify. “You must be relieved.”
“Yeah, I am. Still a long road ahead, but…” I shrugged carefully. “It’s the first really good news we’ve had since the diagnosis.”
By evening, the sharp edge of the pain had dulled to a manageable ache, though I wasn’t anywhere near a hundred percent. Eddie made us pasta for dinner—surprisingly competent for someone who’d admitted to being hopeless in the kitchen—and we ate while watching a British comedy show he’d found on some obscure streaming service.
“I should probably head to bed early,” I said as we were cleaning up the dishes. Eddie did most of the work, of course, but I was trying to at least move around a bit so my muscles wouldn’t start locking up. “Try to sleep this off.”
“Good idea,” Eddie agreed. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, “Bash, you can’t sleep on the couch tonight. Not with your back like this.”
I’d been dreading this conversation. The couch that had been perfectly adequate when I was healthy would be torture with a back injury, but I wasn’t about to kick Eddie out of his own bed. “I’ll be fine.”
“No, you won’t. You’ll wake up tomorrow feeling worse, and then we’ll be dealing with this for even longer.” Eddie’s tone was patient but firm. “You need proper support for your back.”
“So what are you suggesting? That I take your bed and you sleep on the couch? ’Cause I can tell you right now that that ain’t happening.”
“I’m suggesting we share the bed like reasonable adults,” Eddie said matter-of-factly, though I caught the slight color that crept up his neck as he said it. “It’s large enough for both of us, and that way, neither of us has to sleep on furniture that wasn’t designed for extended use.”
The prospect of sharing a bed with Eddie—even platonically—made my pulse quicken in ways that were neither appropriate nor convenient given my current physical condition. We’d been getting more intimate over the past few weeks, exploring each other’s bodies with increasing confidence and enthusiasm, but we’d never actually slept together. Never crossed that particular line of domestic intimacy.
“Are you sure?” I asked. “I mean, with my back, I probably won’t be much fun.”
“I wasn’t expecting fun. I was thinking more along the lines of actual sleep. Rest. Recovery.”
“Okay,” I agreed, because the alternative really wasn’t viable. “But if I accidentally elbow you in my sleep or something, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
An hour later, I was lying in Eddie’s bed—ourbed, I supposed, at least for tonight—staring at the ceiling while Eddie moved around the room getting ready for sleep. The mattress was definitely more supportive than the couch, and I could already feel some of the tension in my back starting to ease.
“How’s that feel?” Eddie asked as he slipped under the covers beside me, careful to keep some distance between us.
“Much better. Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.”
We lay there in the semi-darkness, both of us clearly aware of the other’s presence but trying to maintain appropriate boundaries given the circumstances. Eddie was warm beside me, close enough that I could hear his breathing, but far enough away that we weren’t actually touching.
“Bash?” Eddie’s voice was quiet in the darkness. “Does it help if I… Would a gentle massage make it better or worse?”
The offer surprised me, partly because it was thoughtful and partly because it suggested a level of intimacy I hadn’t expected. I should refuse for all the obvious reasons, but I didn’t. “That would be amazing. If you don’t mind.”
“I wouldn’t have offered otherwise.”
Eddie shifted into a sitting position, then turned on a soft light. He grabbed some lotion from his nightstand—I did not want to think about why that was in that particular location—and moved closer. “Can I lift your shirt up?”
In lieu of an answer, I carefully dragged it over my head, wincing at the dull pain that throbbed in my lower back. “Have at it.”
His touch was careful, exploratory, like he was mapping the injured area before deciding how to proceed. “Here?” he asked, pressing lightly on a particularly sore spot.
“Little lower. Yeah, right there.”
