Page 7 of If Cain Were Able

The thing that kept me focused despite it all was the knowledge that even now, he still trusted me to be the one to get the job done, never mind the fact that I really didn’t give him a choice.

Maybe this time I could save his life instead of destroying it, even though I know forgiveness isn’t that easy. Nor do I deserve it.

Hell, I’m not even sure I want it, because I make no apologies about our time together.

I slam the lid of my laptop closed, pissed that I’m going to see him before he leaves my hospital, but desperate to know if he’d let me in again.

When I enter his room in the rehab wing, our eyes meet instantly, as if he were expecting me. He’s thinner than he was when I last saw him. My PA and nurse have both been giving me regular updates, but they don’t include pictures of anything other than his incision.

His eyes are less bright. The hospital has a way of doing that to people—it’s a very depressing place—but I know this particular dimming is my fault.

“Perry, would you mind giving Mr. Miller and I moment, please?” I ask my nurse while never taking my eyes off Patrick.

“Sure thing, I have a couple of other patients to check on, just page me when you’re done.”

I nod and move aside so he can exit the room.

Closing the door behind him, I lock it to ensure no one else will walk in.

“Dr. Rosemont,” Patrick says. The coldness in his tone makes my cock twitch.

“Lie down,” I instruct. “Let me check your incision.”

He quirks a brow at me in defiance. “It’s been closed for almost a week. There’s nothing to see.”

Oh God, his insolence is making me hard.

“That’s for me to decide.”

I don’t issue the command again, waiting to see if he caves on his own.

He stands up straighter, but begins carefully peeling his shirt off before tossing it on the bed behind him.

He’s lost muscle mass, as is to be expected, but seeing the beginning of the scab that I know will leave a mark—my mark—on him for the rest of his life, makes me snap.

“Fuck,” I growl in frustration as I step into him, wrapping my hand around the back of his neck, pulling his mouth to mine.

He doesn’t fight me.

He doesn’t touch me.

But he doesn’t pull away, either, so I continue.

He tastes so fucking familiar, reminding me of the days when I would climb the walls until I could get him on his knees again.

He lets me take from him until I’m panting, but it’s not long before something wet hits my cheek, and I pull back to see Patrick’s eyes closed as tears cascade down his face.

“Are you in pain?” I ask, needing to know if it’s his heart.

Without opening his eyes, he replies, “I’ve been in pain since the day I met you.”

He still knows exactly what to say, and just like that, I need Patrick Miller now more than ever.

Chapter 6

Patrick

Ibarely remember the flight home or the six weeks since I’ve been back. I wake up every morning, drenched in sweat, clutching my chest while the face of my past remains burned into my mind’s eye. I can still feel his fucking lips against mine.