“I’ve seen you normal,” Rahil protested, “and usually it’s a lot… stonier. And more upright.”
The little groan Mercer gave was so weary that it made Rahil feel like he was overstepping. They had gotten close; somehow—preposterously—the situation with William and Rahil’s connection to Lydia had forged a bond stronger than merely a business partnership or a flirtatious acquaintance. But perhaps it was not enough forthis.
Rahil had broken into Mercer’shousethis time.
He leaned back, tucking his arms around his waist. Softer, he said, “I’m sorry. It looked like you were hurt, and I’d assumed it was William again—I can leave. But if you’d like help...” Rahil couldn’t believe the words coming out of his own mouth. Him, help? With shed projects, perhaps, but not with this—not with emotions, or pain, or whatever it was Mercer was going through now. Rahil’s track record with that kind of assistance was astoundingly deadly. Somehow though, Merc chose another part of his statement to question.
“You, intruding?” Mercer groaned again. “Clearly, I don’t mind people breaking into myhouse. You don’t see any trapshere.”
That was… a joke? Mercer waslaughingat him.
Huh.
Rahil opened his mouth and closed it again. “There’s no reason to tie myself up if the hottest person in the room can’t keep his eyes on me.”
Mercer squinted at him from beneath his arm. “I can confirm that the migraine is the problem here, not your body.”
Mercer was laughing at him,andflirting with him? Well, not with him—that implied a togetherness. At him, then. Mercer wasflirtingat him.
Rahil’s heart couldn’t keep up with all these erratic adjustments.
“Well, um, that’s a shame, because I can only fix one of those things.”
He wasn’t sure Mercer could even properly see him through the bulk of his lashes and the wrinkles dropped low on his forehead, but a little tug came into Mercer’s lips. Then he groaned, his whole body going tight.
Rahil knelt beside him and, ignoring his instinct to lean toward Mercer’s neck, he laid a palm on Merc’s arm. “What can I do?” he asked, so firm yet gentle that he surprised himself. Had he been like this with Shefali, every time she’d failed to go cold turkey? He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want the answer to be yes.
“Curtains.” Mercer grumbled, covering his eyes once more.
Rahil closed the window despite the heat—he’d find a way to fix the lock later—and pulled the curtains across, turning the room to gentle blue shadows.
“Water?” Mercer asked. “The pink one.”
Rahil had no idea whatthe pink onewas, but when he opened the fridge, he found a line of bottled electrolyte waters in three colors. Pink it was.
Mercer managed to sit up enough to sip it before requesting an ice pack next. The freezer held a variety of them, but Rahil found a series of small ones with a flexible cloth casing that formed a hat and brought the whole contraption. He helped Mercer pull it over his head until most of his skull was covered and two of the front packs slid over his eyes.
“Do you have medication?” Rahil asked.
“I could do another ibuprofen, but it probably won’t help.”
“Nothing stronger?”
Mercer grunted dismissively. “Already done. Mine works best taken at the beginning of the migraine and I was at that meeting with William. Been meaning to try a new prescription but…” His voice wandered, and Rahil thought he could fill in the ending for him: but he had Lydia to take care of and a shed of projects to finish and every time he went to the doctor, there was a chance that they would try to pin his migraines on his fae ancestry or disregard his pain entirely based on the color of his skin. “At least the aura has passed.”
“The what?”
“Vision… stuff. I go half-blind for a bit,” Mercer explained, clearly struggling to put better words to the issue. “I’ll be fine. These pass after a day or two.”
That didn’t seemfineto Rahil. If there was someone who could fix it, though, they would be a doctor, not him. He had other work to do. “If you can disarm the shed, I’ll grab Leah’s work to fiddle with here?”
Mercer made a sound of protest, but he pointed sluggishly toward his grounded phone. Rahil handed it to him, and a moment later Mercer let it fall onto the bed. “Done.”
“I’ll be right back,” Rahil promised.
He sent Avery a check-in text as he entered the shed, receiving a near-immediate response that was so positive he would have been suspicious if it was anyone else. There was an attached picture of them and Lydia with something that looked distressingly like blackjack. Lydia had stuck out her tongue for it. Rahil chuckled, recalling just how frustrated his wife—ex-wife—had been during the year Matt had decided to make a ridiculous face for every photo he was in, claiming it made them non-viable options for hanging.
To taunt him, Shefali had bought the biggest possible version of their Christmas photo that year and framed it above the fireplace, where Matt’s tongue had stuck out at every visitor until the day the movers came to take Shefali’s stuff away. Rahil didn’t know if she’d still had it hidden away somewhere when she’d died. He hadn’t asked.
