Chapter 52
Shay-Lee
T hree weeks had passed since Camilo woke up from the seven-day induced coma he was in after surgery, and since then, I hadn’t left his side. So far, he’d made significant progress, and while he struggled to do some of the most basic stuff, like showering by himself, he had begun to regain his power back. His body had gone through a severe trauma, followed by a complicated lifesaving surgery, and it would take him time to fully recover. By that, I meant months. And yet, he was doing better. Much, much better. The swelling in his face had subsided, and yesterday, the docs took out the stitches, too. Now, Camilo had two more scars added to his face—much larger than the others. One went up along the side of his face, cutting through his eyebrow, while the other crossed his face from ear to ear, going over his cute little nose.
The doc told Camilo that he could get those scars treated with plastic surgery, but Camilo refused, and I agreed. He was absolutely perfect the way he was.
“Where’re we going?” my handsome man asked as I pushed his wheelchair down the hospital lobby. He’d only recently started walking again, and since the doctor clearly said to take a step at a time, I wasn’t about to risk it.
“To the yard,” I said when he huffed.
“Why?”
“Fresh air will do you good.”
The automatic doors of the hospital opened, and I rolled him out into the warm sun. It was a beautiful day with a blue sky and tweeting birds, and I knew Camilo thought the same as he looked up at the sun, eyes closed, a soft smile on his lips.
“I can’t wait to get out of this damn place,” he said on a deep sigh.
Unfortunately for Camilo, he still had a long recovery ahead of him, and I assumed we’d have a few more days, if not weeks, to spend in this hospital.
“My ass hurts from sitting so much.”
I snorted at the irony. “Poor you.”
“You love it when yours hurts,” he teased, and I chuckled.
“True.”
“I’m hot,” he whined and pulled at his shirt collar to fan himself.
“Stop complaining all the time. It makes you sound old.”
“I’m nearly twenty-five.”
“Which is young .” I flicked his temple.
“Hey.” He winced, rubbing the spot I hit him. “I’m hurt, remember?”
“You’re going to be if you continue whining.” I gripped the wheelchair’s handles harder, my teeth clashing together as I held back from hitting him again .
What could I say? I lacked the caregiver bone in my body.
“Is that a threat?” the asshole dared to provoke me.
“ No . But if you keep complaining, I’ll make sure to hire a nurse to bathe you instead of me.”
Camilo glared at me over his shoulder. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Why? Worried about someone else scrubbing your dick too hard? ”
The corners of his mouth turned up into a cocky grin. “As if your jealous ass would allow it.”
He has a point.
“True. And between you and me, washing your monstrous cock is more of a privilege than a task,” I joked when he sent his head back with a grunt.
Using his healthy hand, he rubbed his crotch. “I’m horny as fuckkk .”
“Well, you’ll have to wait because the doctor said—”
“ That I can’t have sex for a few more weeks,” he hissed, his eyes rolling. “This is hell.”
While I shared his sexual frustration, as I missed sitting on his face more than I could put into words, I also didn’t want him to be depressed. After all, one of the most important parts of recovery was staying positive.
“Look how pretty those flowers are,” I said, pointing over at the roses we just passed by.
Camilo glanced at the bush, a bored expression on his face. “Sure.”
“How about you grow some when we get back home?”
“Roses need sun,” he said.
“So?”
“So we don’t have much sun in my shitty place.” He flopped his hands over his lap.
Little grump.
“So… we’ll move. I’ve already got my eye on a beautiful property.”
“Huh?” He turned his head to look at me, the frown on his face making me smile like a jackass.
“Just imagine this,” I said as I continued to push his wheelchair.” Four acres of land, 25,000 square feet of Mediterranean-style mansion with eight bedrooms, eleven bathrooms, and lots of green lawns perfect for your plants. Obviously, there’s a pool, a hot tub, and a gym. ”
Camilo snorted. “You’re joking, right?”
“Did I mention there’s a greenhouse, too?”
“Shit,” he hissed, voice low. “You aren’t joking. Are you?”
I stopped pushing the wheelchair. “It was only sixty-five million; who wouldn’t buy such a steal?”
“Shay-Lee—”
Before he could complain more, I rounded the wheelchair and crouched before him, my hands on his knees. “It’s perfect for us, baby.” I smiled at him, just thinking of how much he was going to love that place.
His brows knitted together. “But it’s too… much.”
I huffed. “Hardly.” Sliding my fingers up from his knees to his thighs, I squeezed him tight. “Think about it this way—it’s going to be our home from now on, a place where we’ll create new memories.”
Finally, Camilo’s lips curved upward. “Is this your way of suggesting we have kids?”
My brows pulled into a deep frown. “Fuck no. You know I hate those things.”
“Those things ?” His face scrunched up as he gaped at me, amused.
“Yes, Camilo. Unwanted things,” I clarified in case the message got lost by my pick of words.
He side-eyed me. “Please, you love Cyrus and June.”
“Well, duh .” I blew out air. “Because they belong to Soren. Besides, Toro is already more than I can handle.” While Camilo was here, I was the one taking care of that annoying furball.
“Eventually, you’ll change your mind.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, remind me to tell Chief not to bring his offspring here,” I muttered while rising to my feet. Ever since Chief paid Camilo a visit the other day, accompanied by his children, Camilo had started having those insane thoughts about us having kids.
As if.
Camilo went on to tell me about the painting June drew for him, which even included me, while I pushed his chair around the hospital’s garden. Walking was rather nice, but after a while, my lazy ass got tired, and we decided to rest in the shade of some oak tree. Getting up from the wheelchair, Camilo moved to sit beside me on the bench. He might have struggled with mobility, but he was technically capable of walking and standing.
“Are you hungry?” I asked, and he shook his head.
“Some gum would be nice, though.”
I snorted.
“I thought you were quitting that , too.”
All that chewing isn’t the best for his teeth.
Camilo let out a deep yawn, then mumbled something about how he hadn’t had gum for weeks before he wrapped his arm around me.
“So we’re moving?” he asked, bringing us back to the main issue.
I leaned my head against him and closed my eyes.
He smells so good and warm, like a summer vacation.
“Unless you don’t want to?”
He was quiet for a minute before answering me, “I don’t mind, actually. But wouldn’t it require lots of work?”
I shrugged. “Now that the fashion show isn’t happening, I’ve got a lot of free time.”
Camilo ground his jaw, tightening his hold on me. “I still think you should do the show.”
Shaking my head, I nuzzled closer to him. “I told you that if it’s not with you, I’m not doing it.” The Renieri show would take place in June; there was no scenario in which Camilo was fit enough to prepare for it, let alone participate in it. “Besides, I already told Vito about it, and he promised there would be other shows on other stages.”
Camilo shifted beside me before he sighed. “I hate that I ruined it for you.”
“Hey.” I opened my eyes and poked his cheek. “You didn’t ruin anything for me. If anything, you’re my muse. So stop being such a hard-ass and accept my decision.”
“Your muse, huh?” He wiggled his eyebrows, and I laughed.
“Don’t let it get to your head—”
He cut me off with an unexpected kiss, and slowly, I closed my eyes as he pushed his tongue between my parted lips. On instinct, I wrapped my arms around him as his right hand slipped to my waist. My temperature rose, my body already filling with excitement, when he winced in pain, the sound switching on the alerts in my brain.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, a bit out of breath, while he put his hand, the one that wasn’t in the cast, on his stomach.
“Nothing, I just understand why Doc said no sex,” he panted, his skin covered with a sheen of sweat. “Fucking shit, what if I’m never able to have sex again?”
We both froze on the spot.
“Don’t even joke about it!” I slapped his right arm and got up from the bench.
“I mean it. A fucking kiss makes me feel like a bulldozer ran over me.”
Bending down, I cupped his jaw and held him close. “You’re going to fuck me, and you’re going to fuck me hard, just the way I like it. It might not happen tomorrow, but eventually, it will, and when it does… I’m going to ride your cock and face like a motherfucking cowboy.” My smile grew cockier, and I narrowed my eyes as I got a bit closer to him, my breath fanning his ear. “How about instead of crying, you start taking advantage of your free time to think about all the new positions you want to fuck me in.”
Camilo’s eyes widened, his lips slightly parted, and satisfied, I let him go.
“I fucking love you,” he muttered.
“As you should… Now come, we need to go back.” I patted the wheelchair seat.
Camilo checked the chair and then me. “Only if you’re gonna tell me how Oro cried again. ”
I told Camilo about everything that happened, not leaving a single detail out. After all, I had no intention of keeping secrets from him. And while he was worried as fuck at first , now we mostly laughed about how we both got fucked over by the same twink. That little shit thought he’d be able to tear us apart. Who’s laughing now, bitch? While Camilo and I were at the start of a new beginning, Oro had been downgraded to fucking hell, where he hopefully shared a bench with my dad and Orson.
Oh, isn’t Karma sweet when served cold.
“You know I love this story,” I said as Camilo moved his ass to the chair.
We began making our way back, somehow jumping from one story to another. Camilo told me a fun tale from when he’d been to jail, while I told him about how I used his gun as a boomerang. If a stranger were to hear us talking, they might be disgusted or repulsed. They would definitely think we were missing one or two screws in our heads, and they’d be right, too. After the shit we went through in life, Camilo and I were, well, a complicated case . Two high school boys who hated one another to their core, only to fall in love as strangers in a brothel. We went through hell, spent years apart, and finally got back together, despite everything. Our story didn’t sound right. In fact, it didn’t even sound possible, and yet, here we were, together . We’d beat all the odds, and I had a feeling we were about to beat them in the future again. Why? Because even though it didn’t seem like it at first, he and I were perfect for one another. A sick combination that somehow worked. An unexpected explosion that slowly dissolved into a love story, taking with it any prejudices we might have had at first. Camilo wasn’t just a bad boy who’d joined the wrong high school with a scowl and eyes that could kill. He was kind and gentle, the most gentle man I’d ever met. He was also fierce, unconditionally loyal, and above all—mine. And the same went for me.
Today, I was no longer a broken shell of a child who’d never known love, but a man whose eyes had been opened to a beautiful fucking world.
And while I knew we were fucked up for life, in one way or another, I wasn’t about to let Camilo sink back into depression, nor was I willing to neglect his clear PTSD. Just because we were happy and in love, it didn’t miraculously heal him, or me, for that matter. We had a lot of work ahead of us. Work that would require patience and understanding but mostly time . Because what turned bleeding wounds into healed scars was time. That , and a bit of care, as well. And after years of struggle, I finally learned that loving Camilo Gómez meant loving every scar he carried—on and beneath his skin—the same way he loved all of mine, even the ones buried deep within my heart.
“There’s Blaire,” Camilo said, pointing my attention to our therapist, who waited for us near the lobby entrance.
I knew it wasn’t conventional for a couple to see the same therapist, but as I said many times before, nothing about us was conventional. The trust I’d built with Blaire was one almost impossible to replace, and Camilo had such a good rapport with her that we decided he’d continue the therapy they’d already started.
“Hey, guys,” Blaire said with a big smile after she stopped in front of us. “You’re looking better,” she told Camilo, who rolled his eyes in response.
“I look like shit—”
“Ignore him; he woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” I cut him off.
Blaire glanced between us, amusement in her bright eyes.
“How about we talk outside today? The sun is nice,” she offered, and Camilo nodded.
“Sure.”
Understanding it was my time to let go, I almost didn’t want to. The only reason I finally slipped my hands from the wheelchair’s handles was knowing that this therapy was good for Camilo.
“I’ll see you in an hour,” I promised my man before kissing his cheek .
“You better.”
Camilo shot me a quick glance, one full of love, before Blaire took my place and started pushing him in a different direction.
“So, what’s new?” she asked him.
“My right ball’s itching,” he said.
Unable to hold it in, I snorted so loud I caught people’s attention. Still laughing, I covered my mouth when I noticed Camilo had heard me, too, as he turned to look at me. Our eyes locked, and my heart missed a beat, same as always, at the deepness of his dark irises. At that moment, my chest tightened with so much love I doubted it was legal. Still holding each other’s stares, and without thinking about it, my hand slipped to my neck, my fingers tracing my necklace.
His necklace.
The one I would never take off again .