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To confess he ruined other men for me is an understatement. He ruined trust for me as well. High school boyfriends were expected to lie. Their immaturity practically forces them to be sneaky and mischievous. I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive myself for thinking a twenty-year-old man would be any different. Maybe men never grow up. Maybe the ones who lie as teens are the same ones who lie as adults.
I sigh in frustration as I stand from the side of the bed and begin to put on the clothes the nurse had brought me. The overly large white t-shirt and dark sweats aren’t the greatest, but they feel amazing against my skin compared to the towel I had and the nakedness I was forced to endure.
I look down at the cream-colored sheets on the hospital bed, vowing to never own another white sheet again. Just the idea of another one touching my body makes me want to scream. I can’t believe how easily someone could make me despise such inane things.
I’m fully dressed by the time Trenton comes back into the room.
“You should be in bed,” he says as he approaches.
“I can’t tell you how much the thought of getting back in that bed makes me want to scream,” I confess.
“The chair then?” he offers. “Let me help you.”
I want to rage at him, to remind him that I’m not helpless, but he’s not offering out of any form of trying to control me. The man has showed nothing but kindness since he arrived, and the times I’ve caught him looking over at me, I’ve found nothing but care in his eyes. It’s the same look he gave me the time I cut my hand, making dinner once, the one that said he wanted to be my hero even though I never asked or expected that of him.
I’m managing to let old wounds, things that don’t even matter—considering the current situation—control how I feel and respond to him. He doesn’t deserve to be treated that way. Fate has somehow slammed us back together during a very traumatic point in my life as if it understands exactly what I need. Him being here isn’t an annoyance to me. It’s him seeing me at my weakest, lowest point, and the fear that he’ll never see me as anything but a victim that is bothering me so much.
“Thank you,” I tell him, but instead of allowing him to turn into my side, I clamp my hands on the front of his shirt.
“What is it?” he asks, concern deepening those lines between his eyebrows that I’ve warned him about. “Are you in pain?”
I nod, confessing without words the deepest aches inside of me.
“What can I do to help? I can—”
I press my mouth to his, a thank you of sorts for being here.
He freezes, his mouth pressed to mine, eyes still open as he looks down at me in confusion. I should probably pull away. The man could have a significant other, but instead, I double down, swiping my tongue along his lower lip.
When he gasps, I push further, pressing my tongue to his.
When his eyes flutter closed and his arms wrap all the way around me, I sigh in relief at not being rejected.
Like riding a bike, the sweep of his tongue is familiar. The hum from deep in his chest trickles through me, lighting my blood on fire. This is one of the parts that was always perfect between us. There was never any arguing our attraction and chemistry, and when I press closer, I can feel just how familiar all of this is against my stomach.
He pulls back much too soon, looking down at me with unbelieving eyes. “Grace, I—”
I shake my head, lifting up on my toes and pressing my mouth to his again.
He’s not as responsive as he was with the first kiss, and as much as I want to remind him with my body that we were so good together, I refuse to push something on him he clearly doesn’t want. I went through too much of that recently, and I never want to be seen in the same light as those that hurt me.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me,” I say as I take a step back and drop my eyes to the floor.
“Grace—”
The door swings open, and the nurse stops short when she notices how we’re standing. Trenton clears his throat, adjusting the front of his jeans before turning around. The nurse frowns after noticing the action, her eyes finding mine as if begging me to tell her the truth about this man.
“Am I getting out of here?” I ask, rubbing the back of my hand across my mouth because my lips are still tingling from the kiss.
“Only if you’re ready,” she says, her eyes still locked on mine.
