Chapter 13
BASH
The cable machine made a sound like a gunshot when it snapped—a sharp, metallic crack that echoed through the nearly empty campus gym.
One second, I was pulling down on what should have been a controlled resistance, and the next, I was jerking backward as the cable gave way completely, sending me stumbling into the wall behind me with enough force to rattle my teeth.
The pain hit about three seconds later, a white-hot spike of agony that shot up my spine and made my vision blur around the edges. Fuck! This wasn’t the kind of minor strain you could walk off or stretch away. This was the kind of injury that put people out of commission for days or weeks.
“Fuck,” I hissed, pressing my back against the wall and trying to assess the damage. Sharp pain when I moved, a duller ache when I stayed still, and a lovely burning sensation that suggested I’d pulled something important in my lower back.
Perfect. Just fucking perfect.
“You alright, man?” The gym attendant—a college kid who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else—approached with the kind of casual concern that suggested equipment failures weren’t exactly rare occurrences.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I lied, because admitting I’d been sidelined by faulty gym equipment would add insult to literal injury. “Cable snapped.”
“Yeah, that happens sometimes. Sorry about that. You want me to call someone?”
“No, I’m good.” I pushed off the wall carefully, testing my range of motion. Not great, but not completely catastrophic either. I could walk, which was something. “Just gonna head home.”
The walk back to our apartment was an exercise in pain management. I’d had worse injuries—took shrapnel in Kandahar that hurt worse than this, and I’d still finished the damn patrol—but this particular kind of back pain had a way of making every step feel like a small betrayal by my own body.
More importantly, it was compromising my ability to do my job.
How was I supposed to protect Eddie if I couldn’t move without wincing?
“A Marine who can’t move is a dead Marine,” Gunny had always told us.
If someone actually tried to hurt Eddie, what good would I be, hobbling around like an old man with a cane?
By the time I made it to our door, I’d worked myself into a downward spiral of professional anxiety.
This job was too important to screw up because of some random gym accident.
Mama’s treatment depended on me finishing out this contract successfully, and that meant keeping Eddie safe no matter what.
I could hear him moving around inside the apartment as I fumbled with my key, probably getting ready for whatever we had planned for the day. Classes, maybe lunch with Jessica, Tom, and Kolby, the usual routine that required me to be alert and mobile and ready for anything.
“Morning,” Eddie called out as I entered, not looking up from where he was making tea at our small kitchen counter. “How was your workout? You’re back earlier than usual.”
“Yeah, about that,” I said, trying to figure out how to explain this without sounding completely incompetent. “There was a minor equipment malfunction.”
Eddie turned around, took one look at me, and his expression immediately shifted from casual interest to sharp concern. “What happened? Are you hurt?”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“Bash.” Eddie’s voice carried an authority I’d rarely heard him use. “What. Happened?”
I sighed, recognizing defeat when I saw it. “Cable machine snapped while I was using it. Threw me into the wall. Tweaked my back a little.”
“A little?” Eddie set down his mug and crossed the room, studying me with narrowed eyes that made me feel like he could see straight through any bullshit I might try to sell him. “You can barely stand up straight.”
He wasn’t wrong. I’d been trying to compensate for the injury, but apparently, my poker face needed work. “I’ll be fine. Just need to stretch it out, maybe ice it down. We can still stick to our normal schedule.”
“Absolutely not. We’re staying in today.”
“Eddie, I can’t—”
“You can and you will.” He moved closer. “Bash, you’re in pain. Anyone can see that. We’re not going anywhere until you’re feeling better.”
The matter-of-fact way he said it caught me off guard. I’d expected frustration, maybe some complaints about having his routine disrupted. Instead, Eddie seemed genuinely concerned about my welfare, like my comfort mattered more than whatever plans we might have had.
“What if something happens?” I asked, voicing the fear that had been gnawing at me since the moment I’d felt that cable snap. “What if someone recognizes you, or there’s some kind of threat, and I can’t—”
“There’s not going to be a threat when we stay home. Right now, the most important thing is getting you better. We’ll reassess tomorrow.”
I stared at him. In my experience, protectees didn’t usually prioritize their protector’s comfort over their own convenience.
Hell, most people I’d worked with would’ve expected me to power through a minor injury without complaint.
But Eddie was looking at me like he was far more worried about my pain rather than concerned about how it might affect him. “You sure?”
“Positive. Go sit down before you fall down.”
I made it to the couch without too much additional damage to my dignity, though sitting down required some creative maneuvering to avoid putting pressure on the worst of the injured area.
Eddie disappeared into the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a dish towel.
“Ice. Twenty minutes on, twenty minutes off. Basic injury care.”
“You know about injury care?”
Eddie’s smile was slightly sad. “Unfortunately, I’m intimately familiar with pain, though in my case in my knees. I practically had ice packs attached to them for two years. Plus, it’s part of the training we receive.”
Right. Royal training probably included all sorts of emergency preparedness, including medical situations. I accepted the improvised ice pack gratefully, hissing slightly as the cold hit my lower back.
“Better?” Eddie asked.
“Getting there.” I settled back against the couch cushions, trying to find a position that didn’t make everything worse. “Thank you. For being understanding about changing plans, I mean.”
“Bash.” Eddie’s voice was gentle but serious. “You don’t need to thank me for basic human decency. You’re hurt. Of course we’re staying home.”
The simple kindness in his words made something twist in my chest. When was the last time anyone had looked at me like my pain actually mattered? Eddie was being sweeter than honey on a hot biscuit, and it warmed places inside me that had no business being this stirred up.
“Besides,” Eddie continued, settling more comfortably beside me, “it’ll be nice to have a quiet day. We’ve been so busy with classes and studying lately.”
He was right about that. The past few weeks had flown by in a blur of academic obligations and social commitments.
Between our regular coursework, the group project with Jessica and Tom, and maintaining our public relationship facade, we’d barely had time to exist together without some kind of external pressure.
And yes, my grades technically didn’t matter, but I still gave it my best effort. I hated performing sub-par.
Hell, we hadn’t even had that much time for…
exploring. We’d exchanged a few more hand jobs and had both given and received oral, but we hadn’t taken things further.
I wanted to, but I was hesitant to put any pressure on Eddie.
Even asking felt like too much. If he wanted more, he’d have to say so.
Until then, I was happy with what we had.
I sighed. “Yeah, it’ll be nice to have some downtime.”
And it was. We watched a movie, Eddie made us grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch (slightly burned but edible), and I dozed on and off while he worked on assignments at the kitchen table.
Every so often, he’d check on me, bringing me fresh ice packs, painkillers, or water.
And he kept asking if I needed anything, treating me more like a valued friend than an employee who’d inconvenienced him.
It wasn’t surprising considering how close we’d grown these last few weeks, but the situation made me deeply aware of how our relationship had shifted.
We were friends. Yes, with benefits, but first and foremost friends.
Not boss and employee, bodyguard and protectee, or royalty and commoner.
Friends. Today drove that home, and it hit me hard.
“Ugh,” Eddie said, reading something on his phone after a notification had alerted him.
I looked up, carefully sitting up and adjusting the ice pack. “Everything okay?”
Eddie’s expression darkened. “It’s Alexander. More photos surfaced, with different guys, and it’s evolving into a fairly unpleasant situation. The king is rather displeased.”
“That bad?”
“I’m glad to be on a different continent right now, let me put it that way. Alexander’s been exiled to his family’s estate in Scotland until the media attention dies down.”
The reminder of what Eddie was potentially facing if his own identity was discovered made my chest tight with worry and genuine fear for what that kind of exposure would mean for him personally. “Has he officially come out?”
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. ”