Page 55 of Ripped

“Yes, sir.”

He smirks as I down half the bottle.

“Thanks for taking care of me.”

His cheeks glow a little pink. “You took care of me.”

“Sounds like we take care of each other.”

Connor’s smile is soft. He gazes at me a little timidly and it’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen. Warmth spreads through me that has nothing to do with the fever and everything to do with how much affection I have for him.

I hold my hand out and he comes to me, squeezing himself behind me so I can lean back against him. My eyes drift shut and I sigh.

I feel so much looser than I used to. I can breathe more easily and I swear my resting heart rate is lower now. It’s a steady thump-thump that lulls me into an almost meditative state.

I let my thoughts drift to Roger and instead of the piercing pain I used to feel, there’s a tender bittersweetness now. I’ll always love Roger. I’ll always miss him at least a little bit. But that suffocating weight of grief I’ve lived with for four years is gone.

That doesn’t make what I have to do next any easier. “So, I was thinking…”

“Yeah?”

“I need to sort through Roger’s things.”

Connor kisses me on that spot where my jaw meets my ear. “I can help.”

“Are you sure?” It doesn’t seem all that fair to ask him to help with this. It’s something I should have done years ago. He shouldn’t have to deal with the mess I’ve made for myself.

“Of course, if you want me to.”

I snuggle back against him, a smile on my lips. How many guys would help his boyfriend clear out his dead husband’s things? How many would sit there, listening to stories and asking questions about the dead husband? Not many. Connor is rare. He’s a jewel.

“You know what else we need to do?”

“What’s that?”

“Make an appointment to get tested.”

The smile that grows on Connor’s face shines brighter than the sun. “Okay, I will.”

We eventually get out of bed. He offers to shower with me. I offer to cook us lunch—or is it dinner? I end up in the shower alone while Connor goes downstairs to the kitchen.

By the time I’m clean and feeling human again, Connor’s got pasta boiling on the stove and ground turkey browning in the pan.

“I found the turkey in the freezer,” Connor says, stirring the meat in the pan. “I hope it’s okay I defrosted it.”

“It’s perfect.” I hug him from behind and my eyes drift shut. It’s so good just to hold him, to touch him, to have him in my arms. To think, I’d resigned myself to a life without this, without someone kind and compassionate and giving, without someone who makes me burn and fills me up.

His phone buzzes in his pocket and I slide my hand down his hip to fish it out for him. Connor looks at the screen and grumbles.

“Who is it?” I ask, not opening my eyes.

“Brad.”

“What does he want?”

“To make sure I’m still going home for my parent’s anniversary.”

“You are, aren’t you?”

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