“Alright.” He turned his head the other way, staring across the room at nothing in particular. “I’ll grab some groceries so you don’t need to worry about that. Are you planning to sleep here?”
I nodded.
“Want me to grab anything from your apartment?”
“Yeah…just some clothes. My makeup bag. Some pajamas.”
“You got it.”
“I’ll give you my key—”
“I don’t need it.” He rose to his feet. “I’ll stop by and check on him from time to time. You have my number, so call me if you need anything.”
“Alright, thank you.”
“I’d stay with him, but now I have work to do.”
“What work?” I whispered, looking up at him.
“Heath wouldn’t want his men to know what happened to him, that he’s too weak to lead. So, I’ll do it.”
“Won’t they still know he’s too weak?”
He raised his right hand, where his skull ring now sat. “Not if I pretend to be him.”
Heath was asleep for almost an entire day, twenty-four hours straight. I had to constantly press my hand to his chest to make sure he was still breathing, he still had a heartbeat.
That night, I was too afraid to leave him alone in case he needed anything, so I slept on the couch with a pillow and blanket. I would have lain directly beside him, but I was too afraid to disturb him, to accidentally touch him and cause him pain.
The next morning, he still wasn’t awake, so I went into the kitchen and made something to eat. I passed the time watching TV, going back into the room to check on him. When Balto delivered the groceries along with my belongings, he checked on him too, but he didn’t make small talk before he left.
Later that night, Heath woke up.
I was sitting in the armchair and reading a book, facing his bed so I would know the second he was asleep.
He hadn’t changed his position once, not since Balto had laid him down. He was practically in a coma, and he didn’t look much better than he had once he’d gotten into that bed. He looked as terrible as I felt.
“Baby?” His deep voice came out as a quiet whisper, entering the room like a gentle breeze.
I dropped my book in surprise, expecting to see him stir before he actually spoke. “You’re awake…” I pulled the chair up to his bed and looked down at him, careful not to touch him.
He opened his eyes and stared at me, his face different from all the swelling and bruising, his eyes almost impossible to see.
Now I understood why he couldn’t look at me after he’d saved me—because it was too fucking hard. The sobs came out of nowhere, shaking my body, like a rocket going from standing still to breaking the sound barrier.
His hand moved to mine, and he interlocked our fingers. “Shh…”
I forced my sobs to stop, afraid the noise was hurting him, antagonizing a migraine.
“It may not look like it, but I’ve never felt better.” His thumb brushed across my knuckles, moving slowly, stroking me like I was the one who needed to be comforted.
“Is there anything I can get you?”
“Yes,” he whispered. “I’m starving.”
“Of course.” He’d been asleep a long time, and he probably didn’t get much nourishment in my brother’s basement. I rose to my feet and pulled my hand away. “I’ll make you something good.”
He grabbed my hand again, pulling me back to him.
I turned with the pull, not wanting him to exert any effort.
He stared at me for a long time, like all he wanted was to look at me, to see my eyes looking back into his. “Tell me you love me…” His fingers gripped my wrist, like he wasn’t going to let me go until he got what he wanted.
I stared into his eyes as I breathed hard, felt the catharsis hit me all at once. All the anger I’d felt toward him was gone, like I’d forgiven him without actually saying the words. Now I felt every emotion with intensity, felt my extinguished fire rekindle into a blaze. The numbness was gone, and now all I could do was feel…feel everything. “I love you.”
It was a long week for Heath.
He spent most of his time sleeping, and if he wasn’t sleeping, he wasn’t talking. He didn’t even want the TV on, like the battle against his pain was all he could focus on at the time. He was always eager for his medication, impatient for the next dose when the previous one wore off.
I never left the house, didn’t even go to work, because I wanted to be at his side.
I made him a sandwich with a bowl of applesauce and left the plate on his nightstand. It seemed like he was asleep, and anytime he was resting, I never wanted to disturb him since he did most of his healing when he was unconscious.
But he must have heard me because he opened his eyes. He stared at me, saying nothing.
I knew Heath was in a lot of pain because he didn’t make any sarcastic jokes, didn’t tease me, didn’t say anything at all.
That worried me most of all.
He closed his eyes again, sighing. “I really want to take a shower…” He had a binder wrapped around his ribs, stitches in places where the wound was too wide to cover with a simple bandage. He’d improved over the last week, but he was still a mess.
“You think you can stand?”
He considered the question for a long time before he answered. “Not long…”
“How about a bath?”
He smiled slightly, the first time one had covered his lips in many days. “Are you gonna give me this bath?”
“Yeah.”
“Not gonna say no to that…”
“Let me get it ready.” I went into the bathroom and ran the water in his enormous tub. He had a nearly empty bottle of body wash in his shower, so I dumped the rest out so I could use it to pour water over his body. Then I set a
