Page 83 of Say it Ain’t So

If I had better ingredients, maybe he’d be more willing to get out of bed. Maybe, if I was better, he’d be more willing to try. Maybe he’d be better by now and we wouldn’t have to live like this.

After the sandwiches were finished and plated, the hot soup spooned into bowls, I rushed back down the hall to his bedroom and found Rylan exactly where I’d left him. I grabbed his crutches from the wall they’d been leaning against since I picked them up off the floor the one time he’d tried to use them, and I planted them at the foot of the bed.

“Supper’s ready.”

He turned his face to look at me, but his attention caught on the crutches, and he shook his head. “I don’t want those.”

“Rylan, the papers say⁠—”

“I know what the papers say!” he snapped. “And I said I don’t want them!”

My legs shook and nearly gave out when I stepped back and hit the dresser. My stomach felt like a thousand rocks were piled inside of it as I blinked away memories of Peter’s fists.

Turning away, I set the crutches back where they’d been. I swallowed hard, then took in a shaky breath before I grabbed the handles of his wheelchair and steeled myself to turn back around.

By the time I did, he was struggling to sit up. This time, he let me help him. I got him up, into his chair, and to the kitchen table where our supper sat waiting. There were moments, as I told him about my day, where I saw the old Rylan in his eyes. The one who wanted adventure rather than staying in bed. The one who was willing to do anything for a friend rather than sulking in his own misery.

I lived for those moments. I clung to them with everything in me, because I knew that’s who he really was. That’s who I’d fallen in love with. That’s who I wanted in my life.

After supper, I got him into the bathroom. Maneuvered him out of his clothes and onto the bench I’d installed in his tub. I wiped down his entire body with warm, soapy water, taking extra care of the scars left from the bullet and his surgeries.

Then it was back out of the tub, into his brace, and back into bed—where he’d been all day long. I gave him a pill to fend off the pain, then did the one thing I knew would help him sleep.

I went down on him. Kissed his skin and swirled my tongue over his tip. Rylan clenched his fists in the blankets like he had after I caught him stretching his leg, but the look on his face was less pain and more pleasure, which was exactly what I was hoping for.

After he came, I got him dressed in clean clothes, then tucked him back into bed. I laid there beside him until his eyelids fell shut and his breaths leveled out.

Then I climbed from the mattress and went out to the kitchen to clean up. I washed and dried our dishes, put away the pot and pan. I snuck back into the bedroom to check on Rylan and found him curled around my pillow the way he used to curl around me.

Snagging my tablet from my bedside table, I headed back for the living room, only to pause when my attention landed on his cell phone on the other side of the bed. Something drove me forward, something I couldn’t understand. I grabbed his phone and took it with me. Settled myself on the couch and punched in his code on his screen. I scrolled through his recent texts—all to me, Lee, and Vinny—then pulled up his contacts.

It didn’t take long to find what I wanted. I clicked on the phone number, and it rang twice before a man answered on the other end.

“Hi, this is Joss Monroe,” I said, voice shaky as I glanced down the hall toward the bedroom. I turned back, let out a breath, then said, “I need help.”

25

RYLAN

“Joss!” My body jolted, startling me out of a nightmare that felt all too real. My hand hit something hard as I flung it out, and it yelped. When I opened my eyes, I wanted to curse. It was Joss’s leg I’d punched, and the fact that I’d hit her, no matter how unintentionally, made me feel like an even bigger sack of shit than I already did.

“Fuck, Joss.” I wrapped my hand around her thigh, tugging her closer so I could press a kiss to her warm skin. “I’m sorry. I⁠—”

“It’s okay.” She twisted where she sat on the bed, pushing her tablet away as she slid down next to me and wrapped me in her arms. “It’s okay, Rylan. You’re alright.”

This was far from the first time she’d comforted me after a nightmare—another reason I felt like a giant dick. It should have been me comforting her—me taking care of her—not the other way around.

Still, I held her tight. The weeks with her by my side had been some of the best and the worst of my life. The best, because she was here.

The worst?

Because she was here.

I was incapable of caring for myself, and everything she had to do for me reminded me of that. I shouldn’t need someone to help me take a piss. I shouldn’t need someone to give me a fucking sponge bath because I was too damn weak to stand in the shower alone. I couldn’t cook for myself, couldn’t walk to the other room. Hell, I couldn’t even fucking walk. I’d taken to sleeping on my right side all night long because waking up and seeing her was far better than seeing the useless crutches where they sat beside my bed.

Joss smoothed her hand down my back and, despite my fucking pity party, my dick stirred. I wanted her. Wanted her the way I hadn’t had her since before I got shot. I wanted more than her sucking my dick until I passed out from the goddamn orgasms she somehow pulled through me. But she wouldn’t let me touch her—pleasure her—in any way.

As if to remind me of that, she stopped my hand from sliding down the back of her shorts. “Rylan.”