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Him.
As if he’s all around me.
“When was the last time you got some sleep?”
He just looks at me as if waiting for me to come closer.
“I tend to get five minutes here and there.”
I nod, rolling my lips. “Well, that’s something.”
It’s not. It’s completely inadequate and not considered normal based on the amount of pain medication he’s on. I inhale a deep breath, wondering if I’m going to continue to do my job terribly the entire time I’m in his presence.
“Do you feel like getting up? They want you to use the crutches.”
“I want out of this bed.” He braces his hand on the bed and sits up a little straighter. “So yes.”
The obvious pain he’s in seems to set me into motion, and I walk to his bedside, moving the pillow at his back.
“What’s your pain at?” I ask, waiting for him to sit back again.
“A five maybe.”
I take in the fresh bruises dancing up his neck and jaw before he turns his head to look at me, his face entirely too close. “I can work with a five,” I force out, leaving the pillow and turning away. I bring the crutches to rest against the bed. “I want you to take your time. Bring yourself to the edge of the mattress and slowly ease yourself to the ground. Use the bed to support yourself.”
“Alright.”
He slowly moves to the edge of the bed, dropping his feet to the floor. His right leg is in a brace, and I know it’s hurting him because I can see the colour leaving his face.
I hand him the crutches.
“I only want one,” he tells me, face hard.
“You’ve been given two.”
He reaches for one and puts it on his right side. “Thank you.”
I shake my head, not saying a word. I’d be lying if I said seeing him be a complete stubborn ass doesn’t ease the twisted knot in my gut.
He bears down on his left leg, and even I wince. “Steady,” I tell him.
I can’t imagine how much pain he must be in. The bruising on his arms, legs, and face is nasty, and I know he has five broken ribs hidden under his T-shirt.
“Take your time.”
I look up at his face as a groan leaves him and find he’s holding his breath. I take a half step closer. “Breathe. You need to breathe.”
He shakes his head, his face turning pale.
“Lance.”
His head lifts the second I mutter his name, the breath he’s holding slowly sagging out of him as he stares at me as if it’s the first time all over again. “Yeah?”
I frown. “Breathe.”
But he is breathing now, his chest gently expanding with each inhale. And I can’t take my eyes off him.
I itch to reach out and smooth my hand over his bruised jaw. To dust my fingers up his neck and face and into his hair. I know how badly he needs it, too. Know how badly it would help.
