Page 17 of Protecting Paul

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper and kiss the top of his head. I can’t resist. I want to kiss him all over and make him feel better. I used to do that when we were younger all the time. “I know nothing I say can make this better, but I’m here for you,”

I remember a similar situation from a decade ago, tears stinging my eyes. I feel as helpless as I did when I was a kid.

“Hold still,” I say softly, pressing a bandage against the cut on Paul’s arm. “I’m almost done.”

“It stings,” he grumbles. He has tear tracks on his cheeks, and it hurts me to see him like that. “I’m sorry, Sammy.”

“It’s okay,” I assure him and kiss his cheek. “I know nothing I say can make this better, but I’m here for you.”

“I know,” he mumbles and looks away. “It was just a stupid accident. I was arguing with my dad, and I tripped.”

Back then, I had my suspicions. Paul always had too many bruises and “accidents” for it to be a coincidence. Only once did he admit that his dad gave him those injuries. Every other time, he had some excuse.

With fresh eyes and age, I’m positive the extent of his abuse was much worse than he let on. How many times did he get hurt and not tell me? How many injuries did his dad give him that he had to heal on his own?

“Sammy?” he says, breaking the silence. I finish bandaging the last of the open wounds and look over at him. “I think one of my ribs is bruised or cracked. I don’t want to go to the hospital, but I’m not sure how to treat it.”

“Ice and rest,” I say immediately. “I saw a lot of rib bruising in the military. All you can do is wait for it to heal. We’ll take a few days off from fixing up the house. You can stay here again. It’ll heal up in about a month. You’ll just need to take it easy. I can do the heavy lifting around the house.”

“Fuck.” He shakes his head. “As if you weren’t doing enough for me, now I’m useless.”

“Hey, don’t say that.” I move down to eye level so I can look straight at him. The look of pain in his eyes is heartbreaking. “It’s not your fault. It was never your fault.”

“You always knew, didn’t you?” he suddenly asks. I sit next to him and give him a confused look. “About my dad. Even when I lied, you knew.”

“I… suspected.” I rub his back up and down gently, making sure to miss any injuries. I can’t seem to keep my hands off him. It feels so good to touch him, no matter how platonically. “I still regret not doing more. I should’ve told someone.”

“No. It would’ve made things worse. If anyone knew, my dad would’ve just beat me harder. Best case scenario, they would’ve thrown my ass into foster care.”

I take a moment to process what he’s saying. He’s probably right. His dad was always a manipulative liar. I wouldn’t be surprised if his dad could have talked his way out of things. If Paul had been taken away, the odds were against foster care being much better.

“Stay here,” I say and walk to the kitchen. I need to get him an ice pack anyway, but I also want to hide the tears in my eyes. I need Paul to see that I can be strong for him. I wipe my tears quickly and return. “Take your pants off and put this on your face.”

Paul does a double take and then laughs in surprise, which makes him wince. “I don’t know if now’s the time to get in my pants,” he teases as he slips them off. His clothes are ruined. I’m glad he can still joke, even after all the pain.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” I’m smiling while I treat the cuts on his legs. They’re not as bad, and it doesn’t take very long. I finish up and grab some soft pants from my dresser. “You can borrow these.”

I watch him slowly put my sweatpants on. He looks adorable in my clothes. I should probably offer him a shirt too, but I like what I’m looking at. Even with a couple bandages his tattooed chest is gorgeous and his darker nipples make my mouth water. The pant are a little long on him, and I can’t help but smile.

“What are you grinning about?” he asks as he sits down. I can tell every move is painful for him.

“You look cute in my clothes.” I shrug and sit beside him again. I wrap my arms around him in a gentle hug. The good guy in me wins. “Do you want a t-shirt too?” He shakes his head. “Let me get you another ice pack for your ribs.”

When I return from the kitchen, he’s lying under the blankets, staring at the ceiling. I wonder what he’s thinking about. I want to distract him from whatever negative thoughts may plague him. I press the towel wrapped ice pack gently against his side and then strip off my clothes, leaving my boxer briefs on.

I climb into bed next to him and kiss part of his cheek that isn’t bruised. He looks at me and offers a weak smile.

“Don’t force yourself to smile, for my sake,” I whisper. “You’re allowed to be upset right now. I’ll listen if you need to vent, or I can just cuddle the hell out of you until morning.”

“I’ll take the second option,” he says, and his smile is genuine this time. “You’re like the best big ass teddy bear.”

I laugh and shift so he can lie his head on my chest. I run my hands through his hair and listen to his breathing. I can tell he’s deliberately keeping it shallow, but it sounds better than before.

“I have a plan,” I say after a minute. “As soon as you can get up, we’ll press charges and get a restraining order against Jerry. There’s more than enough evidence. For now, please just stay here with me.”

“Okay,” Paul says softly. He carefully sets the ice packs on the nightstand and yawns. “Are you sure we’ll be able to get a restraining order?”

“Positive,” I say with confidence. “I’ll do whatever it takes. Rest up and tomorrow you can come down to the precinct with me to file the paperwork. The other officers have already met your uncle. They know what kind of guy he is. They’ll support you too.”

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