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I open my mouth. Close it.
Know that whatever questions I have, whatever concerns are rattling around in my head, whatever worries are tearing at my heart…
They’re not a priority.
We need to get Stefan inside.
Then I can put the rest of the pieces together.
I shift around the men, moving in front of them and hustling up the three stairs that lead into the house so I can push open the door, can hold it wide as Dan helps Stefan maneuver inside.
I close and lock it, start to follow them down the hall.
“Shoes,” Stefan murmurs.
“What?” Dan asks.
“Brit always takes off her shoes, hangs up her hoodie and bag,” he mumbles. “She should do that. My shit shouldn’t stop her from doing what she needs to.”
I still, sucking in a rapid breath.
What the fuck?
But because it seems to matter to him, I pause and toe off my shoes, hang up my bag, my hoodie, and then I follow my brother and husband down the hall.
I follow them through the kitchen, my heart squeezing when I see that my snack is sitting on the kitchen island—a plate with veggies and hummus, a chocolate milk.
Taking care of me.
Like he used to.
I exhale quietly, eyes stinging, then turn and follow him and Dan slowly up the stairs, down the hall. Into my—our—bedroom. I slip by them when they pause just inside the doorway so I can pull back the blankets, shift around the pillows.
Then Dan’s there, helping Stefan sit on the edge of the mattress.
I move close, lift Stefan’s feet, settling him back against the pillows, tugging the blanket up and over him. “Your color looks better,” I murmur.
He forces a smile. “I’m fine. Go have your snack.” He nods toward the open door.
Winces.
“What?” I ask, taking his hand.
“Nothing,” he mutters. “I’ve just got a headache. I’m good.” He forces a smile. “I promise.”
I’d believe him.
Except, he’s fucking lying.
And not even doing it well with that gray-ass skin and rubbing at his temple.
I squeeze his hand, hold his pale blue eyes for a couple of heartbeats, seeing the pain in the deepening creases surrounding them. “I’ll go get you something for your headache.”
“I’m fine.”
I squeeze again, say more firmly. “I’ll go get you something.”
He forces a smile. “Thanks, sweetheart.”
