Page 44 of Pieces of Us

He doesn’t answer.

That’s answer enough.

“No more,” I tell him with as firm a voice as I can muster while my heart breaks. “You hear me? You told me on my first day in this house that you’d take care of us. Take care of me. Guess what? It’s my turn now. And I’m going to take care of you whether you like or not, you stubborn asshole.”

He releases a slow, deep breath. “Nolan, I… you don’t have to…”

“But I’m going to.”

“I still don’t think I deserve it.”

“But I’m going to,” I say again. I press a hand to his cheek, not caring that it’s dark. The stubble beneath my fingers feels familiar by now. I like that. I like that a lot. “And you know how I didn’t correct you the first time, back in the kitchen? How I said I didn’t know you well enough to argue? Well, I know you now, Maison. I fucking know you. And you don’t deserve it.”

“Nol…”

“Do you trust me?”

He sounds a little broken when he whispers, “Yes.”

“You don’t deserve it, Maison.”

His breath hitches.

Then the mattress begins to shake again. I know it’s not from laughter this time.

I press in close and hold on to him until he cries himself to sleep.

Chapter Fifteen

Maison

For the first time in a very long time, I wake up feeling… well, not good, but not like death either. Yes, there’s the headache I always get after drinking and the slight tremble to my hands that’s started recently whenever I wake, but I’m not dizzy with exhaustion or nauseous with hunger. I’m able to suck in a breath without feeling like needles are piercing my sides and chest. Even the self-hatred feels a little more bearable. The only thing missing is— Nolan.

The sheets and pillow on his side are rumpled, but they’re cold when I reach out to touch them. The watch still on my wrist lets me know why—it’s nearly noon. Well, fuck.

I jerk up, ignoring the twinge in my ribs like usual. The long list of things I should have done instead of sleeping in begins filtering through my mind, winding up my anxiety. Then my eyes fall on the bedside table and my thoughts go quiet.

There are two slices of toast with butter and jelly, a bowl of mixed berries, a banana, and a bottle of juice. There’s a little note folded next to the mini-feast. I snag it, smiling to myself as the words are voiced in my mind with the same bossiness he used on me last night.

EAT. DRINK. DOCTOR. NON-NEGOTIABLE.

Despite every instinct telling me to get my ass out of bed and start working, I listen. I eat. I drink. I eat and drink some more. Then, because I’m feeling particularly indulgent, I take a hot shower and even give myself sixty seconds of just standing under the spray with my chin tucked and my eyes closed, luxuriating in the feel of the pounding water on my sore shoulders and back.

To say I feel pretty fucking good by the time I’m dressed and heading into the kitchen for some coffee would be an understatement. I find Ace sitting on the counter with his legs dangling, sipping from an oversized mug that reads SHIT SHOW SUPERVISOR. I arch an eyebrow. “That’s my mug.”

“Is it?” He takes a nice long drink. “We can share, can’t we?”

“Are we sharing all of the paperwork that comes with the supervisory position as well?”

He pouts and thrusts the mug toward me. “No. No, we are not.”

“Keep it.” I grab a different mug from the cabinet, this one plain blue. “I don’t want your cooties.”

“Just Nolan’s cooties, then?”

I flip him off. It’s a pretty weak retort, and he’s fully aware of that if his smirk is any indication. I fill my mug with what’s left in the coffee pot, pointedly replacing the empty carafe instead of starting a new pot while making eye contact with him. It’s one of his biggest pet peeves. He rolls his eyes. “You’re a child.”

“Says the one using the word cooties.”

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