Page 44 of A Little More Hope

Mason piled up the pillows behind me and eased me down into them, before covering me with the sheet.

“Feeling more comfortable?” he asked me, his hand tenderly brushing the hair away from my forehead.

“Much, thank you.” Utterly drained and exhausted, I sank into the softness of the comfortable bed, feeling all warm and cared for. Despite the persistent ache in my ribs and the pain in my jaw, I couldn’t prevent my eyes from fluttering closed, and with Mason’s gentle fingers once more caressing my forehead and lazily sliding into my hair, I was conscious one minute, and passed out the next.

*

Daylight filtered into the room when I awoke next, though by the angle of the sun, it must be midafternoon. I wasn’t quite ready to fully open my eyes, so lay, well, more half sat, propped up by a few pillows, content in the doze-induced state I usually associated with waking within minutes of my morning alarm going off. I fought to get my bearings but quickly drifted off again, coming around sometime later.

I vaguely recollected being woken by a doctor and answering some questions. A bright light in my eyes and cold hands touching my body. But I’d been so out of it, the whole scenario might as well have been a dream as my mind struggled to differentiate fact from fiction.

A chair creaked beside me, only this time a warm hand stroked over my brow, the heat emanating from the palm comforting.

“Is he waking up?” An unfamiliar deep male voice asked.

“Not sure.” His voice I did know. The deep rumble had imprinted itself so deeply within my soul I’d easily pick it out anywhere, even if blindfolded, which, technically, I suppose I was.

The hand disappeared and the chair creaked again as Mason settled back down. He exhaled, long and heavy, like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“He’ll be fine.”

“How do you know?”

“The doctor confirmed there were no major issues, didn’t she?”

“As far as she could tell after her limited examination, yes.”

“Well, there you go, then.”

They were both silent for a while.

“You gonna tell me what’s going on between you and lover boy here?”

“Not a lot to tell.”

I swam more toward consciousness but remained relaxed and quiet, wanting, and not wanting to hear the conversation going on around me.

“No?” the guy, Gabe, Mason’s friend, replied. “Why don’t I begin?”

“Fine,” Mason huffed, and I had to stop the smirk forming on my lips. He’d get so grumpy sometimes for seemingly no reason at all. I found the concept wonderfully endearing.

“How come he’s living here with you?” he asked.

“He told you already. He’s doing a reno on his house, and I wasn’t happy for him to stay there with all the dust and crap floating around.”

“So, you asked him to stay?”

He didn’t answer for a while. “Sorry,” he apologized. “I should have asked you first before offering.” Gabe must have made some sort of gesture of acceptance as they continued with the conversation.

“So, when did you two end up sleeping in my bed?” he asked with distaste. “I think I may burn those sheets after you leave.”

“Screw you,” Mason retaliated, but there was no malice laced in his reply. “We only used your bed the one time,” he told him. “And let’s just say, there wasn’t much sleeping going on.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Mason,” Gabe whined. “Did you really have to go there?”

“Makes a change for you to be outraged by something I’ve done.”

A grunt—seemingly Gabe’s standard form of communication.

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