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My hand clasps his on my shoulder, a sigh of relief slipping from my lips as I exhale, my memory of what happened slowly returning.
I may have been shot, and it may hurt like a fucking bitch now that I remember it, but I aimed for that motherfucker’s skull, and I never miss. Ever.
“You’re here,” I murmur, short of any other words as my throat burns. Clearly, I need a drink, and answers to a lot of questions that relate to what happened between the safe house and here, including where exactlyhereis. But right now, my only focus is him.
“I’m here,” he replies, a soft smile playing on his face, relaxing the tenseness of his jaw and tightness around his eyes.
Guilt immediately engulfs me, shame hitting me with the fact that I’m laid up in here and he has to deal with it when he really shouldn’t have to. He’s safe now, he doesn’t have to handle me.
“You know you don’t have to be here, right?” I state, still keeping my hand on top of his as I bask in his closeness despite my words.
“I know, but I want to be,” Nate grumbles with a hint of determination and a bite of challenge in his tone, like he won’t accept any other words on the matter from me. So I relent.
“Oh, you know, huh?” I say with a grin, teasing seeping into my voice as he steps back, pulling a cushioned blue chair closer as he gets comfortable at my side, his fingers lacing with mine and sending my heart soaring.
“Yup, I know everything.” I grin at his response, taking in the hospital suite that surrounds me. I’m linked up to two tubes, hell if I know what they’re for, and the beeping that infiltrated my nightmares emanates from the machine to my right. There’s a television on the wall, a table at the foot of the bed, and Nate in the cushioned seat beside me.
When my eyes finally get back to his, I notice the red rings around them, like he’s surpassed tiredness and entered the zombie phase. “Tell me what happened after… this,” I say, pointing at the bandages covering my chest, hiding the bloody mess beneath the fabric.
“After you were shot?” he confirms, like he’s testing the words on his tongue for the first time. I nod, watching him intently as his eyes soften, the blue pools shimmering as he clears his throat. “The other guy was dead,” he starts, explaining exactly what I knew would be true, and a hint of relief at that seeps into my bones. Thank God I didn’t leave Nate vulnerable to a further attack. “You, on the other hand, were unresponsive, barely breathing, and bleeding out everywhere.” His voice is quiet, stilted, like he’s repeated in his mind what happened again and again, but saying it out loud somehow makes it more real.
“Sorry about that,” I mutter, attempting to break the tension, and the soft chuckle I get from Nate tells me I’m succeeding. The hint of a smile that ghosts his lips eases the anxiety that seems to rise around him.
“You will be,” he retorts, his hand squeezing mine—to console him or me, I’m not truly sure. “I didn’t know what to do, so I reached for your phone and called the number on there, before calling 911.” I nod, that all makes sense, but what doesn’t seem to be processing in my mind is how the motherfucker knew where we were. As if sensing the thoughts rushing through me, Nate removes his hand, lacing his fingers together in his lap as he looks down at them, avoiding my gaze. “The hitman was able to track me with my watch,” he states, pain tearing his soul open. “I’m so sorry, Benji, I—”
I’m sitting up in the bed, grunting against the pain in my chest, and tilting his chin up so he has to meet my gaze in a split second, interrupting whatever bullshit apology is about to fall from his lips.
Our eyes locked on each other, our souls dancing between us, I eliminate the final hint of distance between us and bring my lips to his.
It’s soft, it’s delicate, it’s everything.
The sound of a throat clearing pulls me away from him, annoyance bubbling beneath the surface until I turn around and see exactly who is there to interrupt us.
“Ryan,” I breathe. My best friend stands by the open door with panic and relief swarming his facial expression, before he charges across the room to me.
Despite my injuries, he rounds the bed to the opposite side of Nate, wrapping his arms around me in a bear hug, before kissing my head like I’m a child.
Motherfucker.
“I’m not a child with a boo-boo,” I grumble, shoving him away playfully as he chuckles, his eyes shifting to the other man beside me. I follow his line of sight to see Nate gaping at the two of us, his hands swiping over his jeans as he rises to his feet, cheeks bright red with an emotion I’m struggling to place.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, I didn’t… I mean, I shouldn’t…” He stops talking and buries his head in his hands, and the realization washes over me in an instant.
“Oh my God, Nate, this is my best friend Ryan. Ryan, this is Nate,” I quickly ramble, watching as he looks at me through the slats in his fingers, the redness only deepens as embarrassment washes over him.
“I thought you said his name was Cupcake?”
This motherfucker.
The smirk on his face is far too smug for me, but it’s the strangled laugh from Nate that holds my attention. “You talked about me? I thought you only spoke about business stuff,” he grumbles, folding his arms over his chest as he nervously runs his tongue over his teeth.
I shrug, wincing at the jolt of pain in my chest, but I don't pull my attention from him. “He’s my best friend, Cupcake. This motherfucker could sense something going on from all the way back home,” I grumble as Ryan moves around the bed, coming to a stop in front of Nate with his hand extended.
“Hey Nate, it’s nice to finally meet you. I'm Ryan, official matchmaker, since I was the one who assigned Benji the job,” he states proudly as they both shake hands.
“So you’re the one that put him in harm's way,” Nate retorts with a quirk of his brow, and for the first time in my whole entire life, I watch as Ryan stumbles to respond. His mouth opens and closes on repeat, his eyes blinking, like he’s trying to find some kind of response, but it’s Nate who speaks first. “I’m just playing,” he says with a wide smirk of his own, glancing at me with a wink as he drops Ryan’s hand. “Thank you for sending someone… so special,” he mutters, wetting his bottom lip as my heart swells in my chest.
“Special, huh?” Ryan says playfully, but I don’t laugh, not this time, not in this instance.
