Page 87 of The Refiner

Walking over, I sit down gently, careful not to jostle him. He doesn’t even lift his head. “Did you take something?”

His only response is a slight shake of his head.

I let out a deep breath and take that as my cue to be the adult in this relationship, but when I move to get up, he reaches out and stops me with a hand on my knee. “It’ll pass in a few hours.”

“Ha.” I pat his hand. “The doctor said the soreness would be better in twenty-four hours, not that it would pass.”

His hand still covers most of his face. “I don’t want to take anything with Tatum here.”

Tingles dance in my stomach, and it takes me a second to compose myself enough to answer. “While I can appreciate you putting Tatum first, I’m sure if she could talk, she wouldn’t want to see you writhe in pain for an entire day. Besides, it’s not like you’re taking a narcotic.”

It’s just over the counter pain meds. He’ll function just fine.

But he doesn’t want them.

Because his manhood took a hit today, and somewhere in his brain, I’m guessing enduring pain makes him feel better about it.

“I’ll be fine.”

I don’t bother babying him anymore. “You’re taking the medicine.” I can’t stand seeing him like this. As a matter of fact, I hope Twat Face invites us to her next baby shower. I would love to tit punch her for even contributing to this man’s demons. It’s bad enough that he’s right: society doesn’t think of men being the ones unable to have children. We expect them not to cry or be weak. Astor might not have an Archer yelling at him every day, but he has scars all the same. His ex-wife made him feel worthless, like he wasn’t a man if he couldn’t produce heirs, and rather than assure him that wasn’t the case, she lied and let another man impregnate her. Like her marriage meant nothing since he couldn’t have a child.

And now, here he is, years later, trying to let go of the stereotypes in his head to get what he wants.

Standing, I ignore his mumbled words of protest and make my way into his fancy kitchen, locating the pain meds—still in the bag—on the counter. “Good job, doc. Way to be a hypocrite. I bet your patients would love to know you treat post-op instructions like a wish list.”

I catch a hint of a smile peek through the uncovered side of his face. “Perks of being a doctor,” he says.

“Perks of being an idiot.”

I don’t care how macho he thinks he is; the man was put to sleep and underwent a procedure. He may think his superhero body can handle it, but the slight tremble in his arms and sweat on his face say otherwise.

I grab a pack of crackers from his pantry with a water and the meds, and walk to the sofa where Mr. Stubborn sits. “Here. Eat a couple crackers first. Piper was a hard ass about not taking meds on an empty stomach.”

Opening the package, I hand over a cracker and wait while Astor just… stares at me.

“Please don’t make me look like the asshole by yelling at a man in pain.”

That damn grin appears again and it’s unsettling how my chest reacts to it. “Eat, Astor. You haven’t since you were discharged.”

“I don’t think I can,” he finally mumbles.

I look at him confused. “Why not?”

He looks away and swallows hard.

“Are you going to make me guess?”

For a moment, I think he intends on ignoring me, but he finally gets out that he feels nauseated from the anesthesia.

“Could you try something like a Saltine cracker? Just a bite?”

He looks at me like he’d rather chew on the sole of a tennis shoe.

“We gotta do something. You can’t endure the pain on your own. It’ll just make you feel worse.”

He shakes his head. “I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’ve said that already. Excuse me if I don’t believe you.”

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