Page 62 of The Truth of Loving You

Shane didn’t need to remember that I’d told him I’d never leave him again. Ever. I would prove it to him by showing up the way he needed me.

That text from Madyson put everything in perspective for me. I loved Shane. I wasn’t falling in love; it was indisputable I’m-going-insane-without-you love. But I would have to be insane by myself if Shane wasn’t ready for us.

When he told me that he forgot that everyone leaves, I wanted to cut my own heart out and hand it to him. He’d left hints of trauma and pain, but I had no clue what had happened. One day, he’d trust me enough to tell me. And I had Madyson’s undeniable connection to the universe on my side. That crazy redhead had predicted too many things for me to ignore her.

I inadvertently jostled Shane while opening the door. “I know it hurts, Pretty Boy, we’re home. I’ll get you settled in, and you can take more meds in a bit.”

“’Kay,” Shane slurred.

My mile-a-minute genius was tranquil and practically limp with his arms around my neck. Usually, he only achieved this state after several orgasms. It worried me but the nurse had informed me it was normal.

As expected, I had to fight Sara to bring him home. But the fact that she had a third-floor walkup, and he’d have to sleep on the couch made her see things my way. I’d promised to call her as soon as we got home and take Shane to her if he insisted. Luckily, he’d happily agreed to come home with me.

Home sounded so much better when it meant Shane was with me.

“Oh, fucking hell,” I swore under my breath, realizing all my paintings were lined up against the wall and the one on the easel was also visible.

“Can we fuck in hell? I think it would be hot.” Shane giggled at his own joke, and I hated that I had to set him down and he’d be out of my arms.

It would be amazing if he’d be happy to be here when the drugs wore off. But that wasn’t likely.

“Pretty Boy, we can do anything you want.” I laid him on the bed and propped up his ankle. “I need to tidy up, and then I’ll get you whatever you need.”

I dodged around the easel and stacked the paintings facing the wall. Shane was not ready to see my collection. Hopefully, he hadn’t noticed them. He was snoring lightly before I turned the easel.

Shane slept on and off all night and into the next day. I’d rescheduled all my tattoos or passed them off to other artists for the next four days. I doubted Shane would stay here that long, but I wanted to be available if he needed me.

Watching him sleep had become my full-time obsession. And the fact that he liked to sleep with me curled around him cracked my heart wide open. His immobilized leg stopped his movements, but he’d inched his torso closer to me. He relaxed completely when I wrapped my legs around his good leg and held him close.

There was something peaceful and satisfying in caring for him and in knowing I eased his pain. I spent hours watching his facial expressions and body twitches, discerning when he was dreaming, or in pain, or content to snuggle with me. It fascinated me, and I wanted it every day for the rest of my life. I’d never been so happy taking care of someone else. It was an epiphany that I could be a good caretaker.

I had to tell him everything I’d held back before. If we had any chance, he’d have to know all the harsh details of my past. I’d offer him my heart on a platter and hope he didn’t trash it.

I bolted upright with an ache in my side and a pissed off Shane next to me. “Sorry, I dozed off. Are you okay? How’s your pain? Do you know where you are?” I rapid-fired questions at him.

“I’m fine. Other than you’re in bed with me covering me like a damn burrito.” Shane tried to move his leg and winced.

Checking my phone, I said, “You have one more dose of the good drugs, and then, you switch to over-the-counter. I’ll get it for you with a little something to eat. Crackers or a bagel?” I disengaged our limbs and slipped out of bed so the movement wouldn’t hurt him.

“Are you going to explain?” he asked, his voice hard and demanding.

I placed my hands on my hips, then dropped them, not wanting to seem defensive or angry. “I’m not sure how much you remember, but I’ll give the basic details, and you can ask whatever you want.” My account was quick, to the point, minus my emotional turmoil. “And you slept better in my arms, sleeping helps you heal,” I concluded, determined not to apologize for something we both needed and wanted.

“And Sara knows I’m here?” he asked with a wary expression.

“I’ve been updating her every few hours. She’s not happy with the arrangement, but she has stairs and Isaac and can’t take off work on such short notice.”

I handed him my phone in case he wanted to check my messages. He set it down without looking at it. Sara and I had increasingly civil conversations after the awkward one in which she overheard Shane say that Sara tried to mother him to make up for their own mother, but Sara smothered him. That was a story that I hoped he’d tell me one day.

“Wait. Take time off work? I have to go to work.” Shane panicked.

“Can you work remotely? The doctor and the nurse both said if you don’t keep off your ankle for five days, it won’t heal right, and might cause long-term issues.” I went over to the kitchen to get his last pill, water, and food. “I can go get your laptop or whatever you need.” Purposefully, I returned to the bed and sat gingerly, handing him the pill and water.

He took it without looking at me, and I gave him half a bagel.

“I can get you something else to eat. You’ve been out of it and haven’t been hungry. I’ll feed you whatever you want.” I resisted the urge to touch him. The last day had been heaven, being able to touch him, being near him.

Shane agreed but his expression remained unreadable.

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