“Listen, Manon…” He shifts on the sofa, not looking at me, and reaches for the dry pants I laid out for him. “I should head back.”
“You serious? In this rain, with your knee like this?”
“Then what?”
“Stay,” I say. I swallow hard, because in my mind it didn’t sound so weird. “I mean, the couch is long enough.”
“Not sure this is a good idea,” he whispers and rakes a hand through his hair. It’s almost dry now and falls in his eyes, soft and shiny black. He reaches for the brace. “Need to put that back on.”
No idea why I feel so disappointed. No, it’s just worry. Has to be. I help him put the brace back on and pull on the pants.
“Need to use the bathroom,” he mumbles, and he ignores my outstretched hand, bracing himself on the back of the sofa instead to get up. “Dammit, I…”
All the blood drains from his face. His knees go out from under him, and I barely manage to catch him in time and pull him back down on the couch. He lands half on top of me, and ow, he’s heavy.
“Fuck.” He pushes off me, arms shaking, his face ashen. “Shit.”
“Codeine can make you lightheaded.” I frown. “You were dizzy before you took it, though. When we arrived.” A thought hits me. “Did you eat well today?”
“I think I…” He shakes his head and gives me a sheepish smile. “I, uh. I forgot?”
“Forgot to eat? Come on. You’re a guy. Guys don’t forget about food.”
“Okay. The truth?” He winces. “I ran out of chow and couldn’t bring myself to call the guys to come over. So I ate a bar of chocolate Micah left yesterday.”
“That’s all?” Jeez. “But normally they visit and bring you food? Your friends?”
“Yeah. They’ve been great. But I’ve been in and out of hospital far too often in the past months. They work and need their own fucking free time. They have girlfriends, wives, families. I hate being a burden. Besides, Jesse is down with a bad cold and is stressed about working as a fully-fledged inker now, and what with expanding the tattoo shop and all… Everyone is in full stress mode.”
He rubs his face and sighs. He looks… defeated somehow, and I want to know more. Want to know why he’s been in and out of hospital so often, why he went out in the rain alone, why he has those tattoos and why his nose is slightly crooked, as if it was broken sometime in his past.
Where is his family? Does he have a girlfriend? Is he in college? Is he into sports—is that why he’s so strong?
“I think I’ll take your offer,” he says, startling me.
“What?”
He leans back, his face still too pale for my liking. He looks ready to pass out where he’s sitting. “The couch.”
“Yeah.” I shake myself a little. “I think that would be best.”
“If you’re sure.” His eyes grow heavy-lidded. “It’s warm here. Comforle. Comfort’le.”
I snicker, because he’s cute like that, half-asleep, hair in his eyes. “Comfo-what?”
“Christ, I’m so out…” He yawns and chuckles. “Out of it.”
The codeine is hitting him hard. A bit too hard and too fast. Then again, on an almost empty stomach it makes sense. “Sleep it off. How’s the leg?”
“Better.”
And his smile is so bright it makes my chest tight. Who is this guy, who can make me feel so much even if I barely know him?
Chapter Three
Seth
God, these pills make me loopy. I’m laughing when she returns with a blanket to cover me on the sofa. Or maybe it’s the absence of pain. Can’t remember the last time I felt so good.
“Come here.” I grab her hand and pull her to me. She squeaks and falls on my chest, then scrabbles to get off me.
It makes me laugh harder.
In fact, it makes me harder, period. Damn.
But she moves away, arranging the blanket around me. “Tomorrow we’ll get a good breakfast into you. Then the pills won’t affect you so much.”
“Yeah.” The sofa smells of her. The blanket smells of her. Smells so fucking good. “Your boyfriend don’t mind me staying?”
“No.” She hesitates. “He won’t.”
“You won’t tell?” It’s hard to find the words, for some reason. “Tell him?”
“We’re not yet…” She clears her throat and straightens. “I mean, I won’t, no.”
Weird. Maybe.
Or not. I want to laugh again. Need to do something to lift the pressure off my chest.
Have to stop. “What’s his name?”
“Frederic.”
“Frederic?” I snort.
“It’s a good name. Stop laughing.”
“Okay.” I’m really trying here.
“He’s a good guy.”
“I bet.” I sigh, fold my arms behind my head. My lids are getting too damn heavy. “Manon…”
“Yes?” She sends me a quick smile and goes back to gathering the dirty dishes and glasses, and I have a feeling I should be doing something—like helping her gather everything up—but my body is like a stone, heavy and dead.
“You’re nice,” I slur, and my eyes are closing. “Very nice.”
“Yeah.” She laughs. “Because I almost ran you over. So nice of me.”
“Brought me here. Gave me dinner. Pills. Mmm.” Images flash behind my eyelids. Flashes of dreams. “Sofa.”
“Sleep now,” she says and sounds very close by. Something brushes over my brow—her hand, I think. Soft. Warm. “Rest.”
That’s the last thing I hear before I sink into deep sleep.
***
I come awake with a start, pain shooting up my leg. I lift my head and find a crick in my neck. My heartbeat is booming in my ears, racing away and accelerating. I have no fucking clue where I am, and that always makes things worse.
Fuck. It’s dark. Where the fuck am I? Solitary? Or the prison infirmary? Am I alone? Am I safe?
I roll, tangled up in something, and drop.
Arms wind-milling, I try to stop the fall. Oh fuck. Too late. I hit the floor with a jarring impact. The pain hits a split second later, and I cry out.
My leg. Goddammit. I bite the inside of my cheek so hard I taste blood. Fuck me.
“Seth?” A woman’s voice, and I’m still trying to piece everything together. Where the fuck am I?
A light comes on, soft and yellow, and she appears out of the dark.
Manon. Her name floats in my brain, bypassing the numbing pain.
“What the hell happened? Oh God.” She kneels down by my side, sleek dark hair falling over her shoulders to hide her face. “You fell?”
“Sorta.”
My heart is still going a thousand miles an hour. Manon. Her apartment. Not the prison. It’s okay.
It’s okay, Seffers. Breathe.
“Did you hurt your leg? Let me see.”
Not that I’d say no in any case. Especially now, when I can only focus on drawing enough air in my lungs and convincing myself I’m free. Safe. That life is better now. That I haven’t gone back.
Freaking out like this always saps up my energy, and I didn’t have much to start with. Which at least means her intimate touch on my leg as she pushes up the pants to check on my fucked-up knee won’t give me the boner from hell.
“Can you move it?” she asks, and I grit my teeth and try, because yeah, this is important to know.
Turns out I can. Managed not to break it again. Thank God for the small fucking mercies.
“Why don’t you lie back down, and I’ll bring the compress?” she says, tucking a strand of shiny hair behind her delicate ear, and I’m not sure what she’s saying right now. “I’ll bring you more pills, too.”
I lick my lips, repeat what she said in my mind until the words make sense. “I think I’ll sit here for a minute.” Not sure I trust my muscles to cooperate right now. “It’s comfortable.”
She opens her mouth, closes it, then huffs a breath of laughter. “You’re weird.”
Sure. And an idiot, for staying the night.
“I’ll be right back,” she says and climbs to her feet in a smooth, liquid movement that has my dick interested despite the pain and pushing against the inseam of the pants.