Page 26 of Sin

I placed my hand against the glass to mirror his. “Sí, papá. I’ll see what I can do.”

Warm fingers stroked through my hair, tickling the nerves along my hairline. Someone was speaking to me, his voice soft.

“London?” I whispered, surprised when my voice cracked. My heart was pounding wildly, threatening to burst through my chest. I felt too hot and too cold all at once, and I realized my hands were shaking. Why were they shaking?

My head was turned so I could see London’s worried face. He was kneeling beside me, one hand clasping my own trembling one, his other combing through my hair. He smiled a strained smile. “There you are. You with me, Sin?”

Honestly, I didn't know. I felt like I was between reality and fantasy, a strange sort of fog which left me ungrounded. “Maybe.”

Relief flashed momentarily in his gaze. “I'll take maybe.”

It was then that I realized we weren't alone. My gaze fell to Mend, who stood off to the side with a concerned wrinkle between his brows. When he noticed my attention, he offered an apologetic expression. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit.”

He nodded as if expecting that. “That was a fairly severe PTSD episode, and I'm sorry for my part in triggering it. It wasn't intentional.”

I didn't blame him because I knew he really had just been trying to help. But when I went to say so, London cut me off. “I asked you here to help him,” he ground out. His stoicism slipped. “Not give him a panic attack.”

I tried to lift my hand, but my muscles felt as if they'd been through an intense workout and wouldn't cooperate. So when I tried to swat his arm for being a dick, I actually ended up smacking him in the eye.

“Ah!” he cried, cringing away from me and covering his watering eyeball. With his uninjured eye, he glared at me. “What was that for?”

“Che, qué pendejón,” I mumbled.

Mend cleared his throat and grabbed his medical bag. From within, he retrieved a small cooler. When he opened it, he displayed several vials of what I expected were his blood. He pulled out two of the syringes and placed them carefully on the desk. “When he's ready, give him these. This should mend the rest of his injuries by tomorrow morning. I need to return to the hospital, but if you need me again”—his gaze shifted to me to make sure I knew I was included—“don't hesitate to give me a call.”

London still looked irked, and his left eye was still red and watery, but he stood and held out his hand toward Mend. “Thank you for coming. Sorry for snapping at you.”

Mend took his hand and winced as they shook, his fingertips turning white from London’s painful grip. Apparently, London wasn’t that sorry.

“Anytime,” Mend wheezed.

With one last farewell to me, he hurried out of the room. London remained standing, his back to me. While any lingering panic abated, I studied him, finding doing so helped calm me.

My gaze traced the outline of his muscular form, fixated on the way his clothes hugged his body. He was so fucking beautiful that it caused my heart to start racing once more.

His shoulders appeared stiff, though. His hands balled and flexed at his sides. If I thought it would be welcome, I'd hold his hand. But seeing as he'd told me off not that long ago, I didn't think he'd appreciate my touch.

Dryness scratched at my throat, and I coughed, trying to ease some of the irritation. London startled at the sound and turned around. “Water. Let me… I have water.”

He bent and opened up a mini fridge I hadn’t noticed tucked under the desk. Crammed inside were a bunch of water bottles, sodas, and juice boxes. He snatched the water and brought it over to me, twisting off the cap as if he didn’t think I could do it myself.

I didn’t fight him though. It was nice to be… looked after. I hadn’t had many people care for me in a long while, and while this wasn’t anything ground shaking, I still appreciated it.

I accepted the water and sat up, only realizing then that I was still dressed down to my boxers. Nothing hid the map of bruises and cuts, and I quickly chugged the water so I could grab my clothes from the floor. I shoved my shirt over my head then slipped on my pants and shoes while London watched wordlessly, though I noticed the tick in his jaw as he waited for me to finish dressing.

“Are you feeling better?” he asked, his tone unreadable.

I shrugged. “I’m fine.”

“Don’t do that.” London shook his head, and a few coils tickled his forehead. He paced in front of me, appearing jittery and agitated. “Don’t play this off like it was nothing. That was…”

“London, it’s fine.”

“Don’t lie to me,” he said, voice hard and heavy with disapproval. “Stop acting like this was nothing. That… That was pretty intense, Sin.”

“I don’t think it’s nothing,” I bit out, frustrated that he wasn’t letting this drop. I was embarrassed he’d seen me like that and wanted nothing more than to sweep it under the rug. “But I don’t know what you want me to say. You want to play therapist and listen to all my issues?” I raised a brow at him before rubbing my hands over my face. “Look, I’m aware I have problems I need to resolve. But right now, I’m trying really hard to hold myself together, okay? And I’m not going to lie, it’s hard. So for now, can we please just pretend things are fine and move on?”

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