Page 25 of Misery In Me

“Ready to go?” I look up at him, and his green eyes gaze into mine. I motion to his truck, which he told me to bring because of his gear.

He doesn’t protest. Instead, he follows me a few steps behind, moving slower than usual. He’s injured, yes, but there’s more than just physical pain on his face. There’s a heaviness that’s difficult to ignore. I don’t know what happened to him out there, but I know it’s something that’s changing him.

***

The next day is rough. Gage is home, recuperating, but his injuries are more than just physical. I can see it in the way he can’t fall asleep, in the way his hands clench when he’s not paying attention, and in the way his eyes look like they’re always somewhere far away. But he doesn’t talk about it. He doesn’t talk about his friend. He doesn’t talk about the mission.

Instead, he lets me take care of him, and that feels... strange. It feels more intimate than I ever expected it would. He tries so hard to care for Zoe, but mostly it’s me bringing her to him while he’s in bed or on the couch.

The first time I help him out of bed, I can feel the tension in his body, the stiffness in his movements. I’m gentle and careful, supporting his body as he leans into me. He’s taller than I am, his frame broader, but he lets me help him, and it makes something twist in my chest. There’s vulnerability there, something I haven’t seen in a man before.

Gage’s always been the one in control. Always been the one giving orders. But now he’s the one who needs something from me. And that’s harder than I expected.

“I can do this,” he grumbles, but there’s no real conviction in his voice. He’s not arguing, he’s just trying to keep his pride intact.

I don’t say anything. I don’t have to. Instead, I just guide him toward the couch, where I can help him sit. I settle him down,then go about fixing the meal I’ve prepared for him. I know he’s uncomfortable, but I can see the effort he’s making to hold himself together.

The service feeds men all thatmachismobullshit and I’m seeing it firsthand with Gage. He doesn’t have to do that with me. I’m not going to judge him for needing help. He fucking risks his life for this country and if he needs to be vulnerable, then he should feel safe enough to. Especially in his own home, behind closed doors. Where it’s just the three of us.

When I return with a tray of food, he’s staring out the window, his mind elsewhere. I sit beside him, setting the tray down on the coffee table. Zoe’s in the playpen next to the couch, where she is close enough for him to watch her.

“You need to eat,” I tell him, my voice gentle but firm. He doesn’t look at me, but he nods, his gaze fixed somewhere in the distance.

I place a hand on his shoulder, my fingers brushing lightly over his skin. “It’s okay, Gage. You don’t have to pretend you’re fine.”

For a long moment, he doesn’t respond. Then, slowly, he turns to face me. His eyes are dark, shadowed with something I can’t quite place, but I know it’s not just the physical pain that’s bothering him.

“I’m not fine,” he admits quietly. “But I’m trying, Ale. I’m trying to get back to who I was. Who Zoe needs me to be.”

“I know,” I say softly. “And I’m here. Foryouand for Zoe. Let me take some of the burden while you heal.”

For the first time, I saw him really look at me, his eyes lingering on my face. More than just the caretaker. Not just the nanny. But me. And something shifts in his eyes. Something unspoken, like we’re both standing on the edge of something we don’t know how to deal with.

“For me?” He mumbles under his breath. “Nobody’s ever been here for me.”

Those words are all it takes for the feelings growing inside to shift and become real. I’m not just here for Zoe. I’m here for Gage too.

I’m so fucked.

TEN

GAGE

I’m staring at the bathroom door, the cold porcelain seeming to mock my stillness, willing myself to get up, to move, to do something other than just lie here like an invalid. But every time I try to shift my body, a searing pain shoots through my ribs, a brutal reminder of the injuries I sustained. I’m so goddamn tired of feeling like I’m broken—physically and mentally. I need to shower.To feel normal again.But even now, with everything quiet around me, I can’t shake this feeling that if I step into that bathroom, something will change. Something will shift between Ale and me, and I don’t know if I’m ready for that.

If we’re ready to acknowledge the tension that’s been growing between us. The sparks when our hands touch and how I linger a little longer.

The sponge baths she’s been giving me aren’t enough anymore.They never were.But they’re the safe option. They’re professional. She stays close and makes sure I’m clean, but there’s no intimacy to it. There’s no crossing of lines. The shower is a whole other story. I’ve been avoiding it for days. Hell, I’ve been avoiding it since I came back from the mission, from theday I got off the bus and tried to pretend everything was fine when it wasn’t. When I’m still not.

But that’s the problem now. I’m not fine.

I’m lying in bed, the sheets pulled up to my waist, my body stiff from the lack of movement, the muscles sore from the forced inactivity. I reach over, testing the water bottle on the nightstand. It’s nearly empty.

Fuck this shit!I can’t just keep lying here. I need to nut the fuck up and do what needs to be done.

I take another breath, bracing myself, but then I hear the bedroom door open.

“Ale,” I murmur, not even bothering to look over at her.

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