Page 67 of Endless Depths

“Sore?”

“I’m okay,” I lie.

Simply existing puts a strain on my muscles because of the constant core workout to stay upright. Between that and the stress, my muscles are tighter than a bowstring, and nerve pain shoots down my leg at random.

I’ve been guzzling over-the-counter pain meds as often as I can without destroying my liver. It takes the edge off—barely. I packed an emergency stash of muscle relaxers and oxycodone, but I won’t take them unless an old fracture breaks again.

At the bottom of the stairs, Morgan presses a gentle hand to my lower back. A sharp gasp escapes my lips before I can stop it.

Morgan clicks his tongue. “Sorry. Come on, I’ll help you up there.”

“I don’t need help.”

“I know,” he says serenely.

He follows me upstairs and pauses on the threshold of the captain’s quarters. “Get undressed. I’ll be right back.”

“What?” Never mind. He already walked out, and I’m not going to question him. I’ll take whatever he wants to give me.

I brush my teeth, trade my contact lenses for glasses, and stripto my boxer briefs, avoiding the self-loathing in my reflection, then shuffle back into the room.

Morgan is taping a piece of paper to the outside of my door. In big block letters written with a thick marker, it says:

THE CAPTAIN IS SLEEPING.

ABSOLUTELY NO INTERRUPTIONS UNLESS THE BOAT IS ON FIRE OR SINKING. LAWRENCE, I WILL KICK YOUR ASS IF YOU WAKE HIM.

“Do you think it’ll work?” I ask.

“You never know with Lawrence.” He turns, grin slipping from his face when he sees me.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” His Adam’s apple bobs. “It’s just been a long time since I’ve seen you in glasses.” His lips quiver, nearly imperceptibly beneath his overgrown stubble.

“Oh.” I didn’t realize. I only wear them before bed, and I didn’t bring them when Lawrence and Javi kidnapped me. Morgan is probably the only person who saw me in them regularly, except for the time I spent in the hospital. The glasses were on my bedside table, waiting for me when they took the breathing tube out. Morgan thought to take them with him, as if he had faith I’d survive to one day need them.

I pad toward him, intent on comforting him. This is my fault. I kicked him out. I deprived him of me, just like I did with Finn. What the fuck is wrong with me?

He squeezes the bridge of his nose and blinks. “Don’t.” A single word said like a curse.

“You always try to ease my pain, but I’m the one who hurts you,” I press, taking another step.

“I don’t want to talk about that.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

He nods toward the bed. “Get in.”

I don’t dare answer verbally. I face the bed and pull the blankets back. The door closes behind me. He left? I plant my palms on the bed and bow my head. All I do is hurt him. I don’t know how to make this right. I wish I would have died.

The wood creaks. My heart leaps. I feel like the same insecure teenager who pined over him, longing for his attention, willing to settle for anything, even his irritation. It took him forever to open up to me, and now I’ve pushed him so far away, I don’t know if he’ll ever let me in again.

“Lie down,” he says.

When I comply, he sits on the edge of the bed. “Where does it hurt the most?”

“My heart.”