Chapter 29
Cain
I’m so fucking tired of lying in this hospital bed.
“Cain, I can’t discharge you,” Declan Porter says.
“You live alone, and I know you, you won’t listen to the instructions at all.
You’ll have all your stitches popped and the graft on your heart torn in twenty-four hours.
And while I’m good, not even I could put Humpty Dumpty back together after that. ”
“I don’t want to die, Declan. Of course, I’ll listen,” I argue. “Especially if it gets me the hell out of here. Plus,” I add, throwing a furtive glance at Patrick, who hasn’t left my hospital room since they wheeled me down here to the regular unit. “I won’t be alone. Patrick is staying with me.”
“I am?” he practically yelps before clearing his throat. “Hm-hm. I mean, I am. Yes, he won’t be alone.”
It’s hard to hide my smile.
Patrick’s been working remotely at my bedside for two days. He finally showered, shaved, and changed his clothes when I told him he either got cleaned up or got the hell out of my room.
Declan glances back and forth between us, his gaze landing on Patrick.
“You really think you can tell him no and keep him in line?” he asks.
Patrick’s eyes dart to me.
“Of course.”
I choke down a laugh. Patrick hasn’t been able to tell me no a day in his life, so this will be fun.
Beaming, I look at Declan.
“See? Can I go home now, your Highness?”
Declan shakes his head.
“You’re such a dick, Rosemont. You would do well to remember you’re not invincible.”
I snort, but the sound hurts both my chest and my throat.
“As if that bullet didn’t just teach me that exact lesson,” I point out.
“Fine. I’ll discharge you. But I want daily pictures of your incisions. And so help me God, if you miss a follow-up, I’ll send EMS transport after your ass faster than that bullet hit you. Am I clear?”
I can’t hide my smirk, already excited about the prospect of being alone with Patrick for as long as I can convince him to stay.
“Declan, if you want daily pictures, join my OnlyFans.”
“Trust me, Rosemont,” he says as he washes his hands in the sink in my room, “I’ve seen enough of you to last me a lifetime. Just the incisions, please.” Exiting my room, Declan looks back over his shoulder at Patrick. “I hope you know what you’ve gotten yourself into.”
“Me too,” Patrick mutters once Declan is gone.
“I’m not going to beg for it,” I lie.
“Good, because you’d be wasting your breath,” Patrick responds, setting the tray across my lap.
I’m definitely going to beg for it.
Patrick has been waiting on me hand and foot for three weeks.
He won’t let me lift a finger. His boss approved three months of remote working and promised no on-site assignments until I could take care of myself.
Liam has been checking on Patrick’s house, and outside of that, Patrick has made the move from Raleigh to Boston pretty easily.
Easily enough that I’m starting to wonder if he’d make it permanent.
“Come on, one blowjob never killed a man. I blew you after heart surgery!” I argue, starting to get desperate.
“Jesus Christ, Cain. You still have bullets in you, for fuck’s sake, and the drain only came out of your chest a few days ago.”
I narrow my eyes.
“Well, according to Declan, the bullets are permanent souvenirs, so I hope to God that’s not why you won’t blow me.”
Patrick gives me the sternest look he can muster, which might work in a boardroom, but is soft around the edges when he aims it at me.
“Do you know how traumatic it would be if you ruptured something while I was choking on your cock?”
“I’m about to rupture something because you aren’t choking on my cock,” I counter.
“One more week,” he argues.
“ANOTHER WEEK? Patrick, I’m going to lose a testicle by then.” Time to show him just how desperate I am. “Please?” I ask.
Patrick folds his arms and cocks his head.
“That’s not going to work.”
“Pretty please?” I counter. Still nothing. “Oh, for God’s sake.” I push my sweatpants down my thighs and wrap my hand around my dick, needing relief. “I’ll do it myself then, but it seems such a waste when you’re standing right there.”
“Fuck, you’re insufferable,” he whines.
But he drops to his knees as he says it.
And so it goes for the next two months.
Push and pull.
Give and take.
Basking in our knowledge of the boys we were while acquainting ourselves with the men we’ve become. In each other’s presence for twenty-four hours a day, present for every mood swing, and every high and every low that comes with healing, a shift takes place.
Until one day, I can’t stand to look at the circled date on the fridge calendar.
My three-month follow-up appointment and the deadline for Patrick’s remote working allowance.
“What are we doing, Pat?” I ask, the nickname just flying out. I rarely, bordering on never, call him Pat.
We’re sitting on the couch, my legs across his lap as I study patient charts, trying to stay up-to-date on how everyone is doing while Patrick clicks away on his laptop, which is currently perched on my shins.
“What do you mean?” he asks, glossing over the nickname. For some reason, that creates a pinching sensation in my chest.
I’m tired of beating around the bush, saying everything with our actions and nothing with our words.
New for me, I know.
“We’re in our mid-forties. We’ve been playing house for three months. We both know I don’t need the help for daily tasks anymore, but neither of us is addressing it, and we’re running out of time.”
Patrick goes a little pale.
“I’ll go if you’re ready for me to leave.”
“That’s just it, though. I’m not. And I don’t think you are, either.” He stays silent. “Are you?” I ask.
“No,” he finally whispers, closing his eyes and his laptop, like the truth pains him.
But then his eyes flash open, and he pushes my legs off his so he can stand and pace the living room.
“But it doesn’t matter, does it?” he asks, looking down at his keyboard.
“Despite growing closer over the past couple of months, you still don’t do relationships.
You still aren’t able to give me what I need, Cain. ”
“So, you’re saying I can’t change?” I argue, sitting up.
“No,” he sighs in frustration. “I’m just saying I know you.”
“Well, regardless of what you think you know, you aren’t just an easy lay to me. You never were. You fed me in ways no one else could, and it wasn’t until I lost you that I realized it. But I was too fucking stubborn to do anything about it back then.”
“And now?” Patrick asks as I slide my hand around the back of his neck, pulling him toward me.
“Now, it seems getting shot put some things into perspective for me.”
“Like what?” His gaze latches onto my lips as he talks. I can tell he’s trying to keep the hope out of his voice, but he can’t keep it out of his eyes.
I lean in and brush a kiss across his lips.
“Like maybe I don’t want this to end. Like maybe I’m tired of always being alone. Like maybe I don’t want to keep up the ruse that I don’t give a shit about anything,” I admit, tracing the lip I just kissed with my thumb.
“You can’t just throw something like that out there, Cain. You don’t understand the damage it causes me…the damage it has caused me…the damage I’ve caused to others because of you.”
I turn his head to the side and tilt it so I have better access to his neck as I trail kisses along the column of flesh before pulling away and baring my soul.
“I’m not just throwing it out there, Patrick.
It’s all I’ve been thinking about since we came home from the hospital.
I spent our years apart trying to recreate the thing we once had.
As it turns out, it can’t be recreated with anyone but you.
I’m selfish, demanding, and needy in the worst ways.
I’m somehow both overly confident and incredibly insecure.
I’ve come to realize I masked that insecurity with the egotistical confidence I’m now known for.
Fortunately, it worked for me professionally, but it’s stunted my ability to form attachments or engage in meaningful relationships.
Except with you. It’s always you. It’s only you.
You’ve seen the absolute worst of me, and yet here you are, nursing me back to health. ”
“Here I am,” he whispers.
“So, what do you say? Is it too late? Have I caused too much damage?”
Swallowing hard, Patrick looks me dead in the eye and says, “Probably…but I still want you.”
Capturing his mouth in a kiss softer than any I’ve ever given anyone, I feel his lips curl into a smile. Pulling back, I search his eyes.
“What?”
“Don’t go easy on me now.”
“Are you telling me you want it rough?”
“I’m telling you I want it the way it’s always been. Explosive. Unstoppable. All-consuming.”
“I tell you I’m finally ready to commit, and you don’t want me to change anything?” I ask, bewildered.
“Not in the bedroom,” he says adamantly. “That’s never where the problem was.”
He’s right about that.