Page 151 of A Breath of Life
I kissed him softly and gently.
He broke the kiss on a sob and clung to me. “I’m sorry. I’m not doing so great.”
“I know.”
“I called Dr. Peterson, but I can’t get in until next week.”
“It’s okay. We’ll get through this.”
“I’m smoking and drinking, and I can barely find stable ground right now. My head is a mess. I’m so fucking sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?”
“Because I’m an overprotective asshole, and I’m afraid I don’t know how to stop. I don’t want to ruin this. The last time we spoke, I locked you in a bathroom and yelled at you to stay there.”
“D—”
“No. I shouldn’t have left. It was my fault you got shot.”
“It wasn’t.”
“I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m fumbling and failing. This whole relationship thing is so fucking hard for me.”
“D.” I pressed a finger to his lips because now that he was talking, he was unraveling. “Listen. Our arguments are not all your fault. Have you met me? Hello? The sassy, petulant, hotheaded brat you live with who never listens and who goes off half-cocked all the time. Trust me, Guns. I own equal shares in our arguments.”
He gritted his teeth. “No. You don’t. Your sass is my favorite thing in the world. You aren’t petulant or bratty, and I never should have said that.”
“Except I am.”
“I love your determination and confidence, but it scares me so fucking much because one day, you’ll fly off on your own and forget I exist. You don’t need me, Tallus. I’m too much work.”
“I do need you, Diem, but also, Iwantyou, and that’s more important.” I rubbed my thumb over the crease between his brows, then kissed his forehead.
“But why?”
“Not a lot of people can handle a guy like me. Someone needs to put me in my place from time to time. I’m glad it’s you. I’m glad you’ve found your voice with me and aren’t afraid to use it.”
He didn’t seem to understand, and I wasn’t sure I could explain. We lay quietly for a while. Diem studied me, his fingers trailing cautiously up my arm before visiting the bruise on my chest. He drew the hospital gown aside so he could examine it. Fresh pain radiated from his eyes.
“I’m okay,” I reminded him.
Diem moved the gown back, covering the injury, but continued to reverently touch me. At one point, he stopped at the hickey on my neck. The one he’d reluctantly put on me what felt like a century ago.
Even now, the look on his face told me he hated it. “Why?” he asked.
“I like carrying your mark. It screams to the world that I belong to you.”
“You don’t need bruises for that.”
I couldn’t explain it. “Close your eyes and sleep, D. You look tired.”
“I am.” He tucked his face against my chest, kissing my injured heart through the hospital gown, and let me cradle his head as he fell asleep.
I stroked his cheek, and if they were damp with tears, neither of us drew attention to it.
***
A soft rap sounded at my hospital room door the next morning as I picked at the disgustingly soupy oatmeal I’d been served for breakfast.Diem had stepped out to take Echo to the bathroom, and I’d begged and pleaded for him to find me a latte before I tore my leads off and ran down the streets of Toronto with my ass flapping in an unsightly gown to get one myself.
