“Yeah,” I agreed, walking over and taking the club cut from his hand and moving to hang on the back of his desk chair before heading back and reaching for the hem of his shirt. He watched me, his eyes following me across the room and back again. I tried to ignore the way it made me feel, the butterflies it stirred in my stomach reminding me of how things used to be.
I would come to the clubhouse and sit downstairs and do my homework. He would wander, man the bar, clean, watch the kids with me constantly in his eye line.
Yeah, it was fucking weird.
But it was strangely us.
I cleared my throat, stepping forward and reaching for the hem of his shirt. “How did you even get this on this morning?” I joked, partially. I had no idea honestly.
He cringed. “Don’t ask.”
I directed him to lift one of his arms, scrunching up the shirt and pulling the arm on his good side though the sleeve before slipping it over his head and down the other side with little pain. The moment his body was on display, my brain became scrambled, and all I could do was stare straight ahead at his chest, the armored tattoo that covered his chest and heart was one of my favorites.
My eyes fell lower to his ribs, the gross yellow color of fading bruising looking like someone had colored him in with a magic marker. “Jesus Christ,” I whispered, not like the amount of damage that had been done, and feeling my throat begin to close as tears hammered at my wavering defenses. “Why didn’t you just let me be there for you? Why did you have to be so damn stubborn?”
My fingers brushed over the dirty coloring, my brain reminding me this was him healing, that it was worse than this at some point. That there was probably a time where he couldn’t move. Where it hurt for him to breathe, and I was off at fucking college thinking about myself.
Still running away from my problems.
Still pretending like I was going to just be able to get over Ham and move on, like he wasn’t everything to me and more.
His hand reached up, brushing my hair back from my face and dipping his head to press his lips to the top of my head. “I made a mistake,” he murmured, dropping his lips down further to my forehead. “But whether or not I was an idiot then, doesn’t matter now. ‘Cause I’m done being without you.”
So was I.
My eyes fell closed, and I leaned into his energy.
It was warm and welcoming and safe.
“All right,” Skins announced as he stepped through the door, not even blinking at the intimate moment we were having. “Where’s the patient?”
The moment was gone, and I fell back with a heavy sigh.
Surely it didn’t have to be this hard?