“How’d you sleep?” he asks, brushing my hair out of my eyes. “You in pain?”
“I’m fine. Slept good.”
I reach for the mug on my nightstand and wrap my hands around it, inhaling the steam like it’s life-giving oxygen. Taking a sip, I glance at him over the rim.
He smiles, then turns his attention to the pharmacy bag, rummaging through it as the bottles clink softly together. “Alright,” he says, pulling out three orange bottles. “Medication time.”
I groan immediately.
“Don’t make that face.”
“I don’t like ’em.”
“I know, but you need them.”
He checks the labels carefully, then shakes three tablets into his palm and holds them out to me, expectant.
I stare at them with a grimace. With a dramatic sigh, I take them and toss them into my mouth, washing them down with a gulp of coffee.
Troy grins and squeezes my shoulder. “Good boy.”
I nearly choke. A furious blush floods my face as I cough into my mug. My stomach swirls, a pang of arousal making my cock twitch.
“You like that, don’t you?” he teases, inching closer until our chests nearly brush. “Being told you’re a good boy?”
My gaze drops straight to my coffee. “What? N-no. I just—”
“Because I love telling you how good you are.” He lifts my chin so I have to look at him. “And you are. Always.”
A quiet, breathless sound slips out of me before I can stop it. He cups my face, and I lean into his touch, nuzzling against his palm.
“I love you so much,” he says softly, his thumb brushing over my cheek. “You’ve been so strong through all of this, baby. My big, gentle, brave man.”
Emotion lodges in my throat. I duck my head, heat creeping up my neck as my chest tightens around the words.
Taking pity on me, he lifts the mug from my hands and sets it aside before leaning in to kiss me. He shifts over me carefully, hovering so he doesn’t put too much pressure on my ribs.
I sigh into the kiss, melting against him, my cast awkwardly pinned between us.
He tastes like coffee and cigarettes and something that’s completely, unmistakably Troy.
After a moment, I nudge his shoulder, sucking in a sharp breath as we part. “Alright, alright,” I say, trying—and failing—to sound annoyed. “Sex with broken ribs is probably not a great idea, so we gotta stop before I get a boner.”
He huffs out a quiet laugh and rolls off me, settling back at my side.
We end up curled together again, a little less tangled this time, sipping our coffee in the quiet morning light. His fingers drift lazily over mine, absent and soft, like he just needs to feel me there. Outside, birds chirp as the sun climbs higher, filling the room with a gentle warmth.
“Hey,” he says gently, squeezing my knee.
“Hm?”
He studies my face like he’s searching for cracks. “How are you doing?”
I shrug. “My arm aches a little, but it’s fine. The ribs—”
“That’s not what I meant,” he cuts in, turning toward me fully. “I meant… how are you handling everything that happened with your parents?”
I freeze. My gaze drops to my mug, my throat bobbing. “Oh.”
