Page 27 of State of Mind

“Clearly. He said you need to take these with food, so I ran by Adam’s truck and picked up a few things. I figured we could do dinner together.”

Luca could hear in Raphael’s tone that he had no plans to leave, so he groaned and shifted up. “I thought we were supposed to have pasta night,” he said through clenched teeth as he shifted over.

The pain was less, but not enough.

“You don’t look like you’re up for cooking tonight,” Raphael said with a smirk. He set his crutches aside, then eased himself down next to Luca and emptied the food bag. It was instantly fragrant, spiced and subtle—with a hint of fry oil, but it made his stomach growl and mouth water—and he realized he’d missed all of his meals apart from the breakfast he’d lost on Will’s farm. “You’ll like this. I actually had it once in Stockholm—it’s not the same as what Adam makes, but it’s close.” He started to hand it off, then hesitated, “What other allergies do you have?”

Luca rolled his eyes. “Just the one. Well, and Oak pollen, but I’m not worried about that in my sandwich.”

Raphael handed the food over, and Luca peeled back the foil, revealing something that kind of looked like a calzone. He was too hungry to really care after that—and too desperate for pain meds. He broke it in half and quickly began to stuff it down, well beyond caring what he looked like to the man next to him.

“Better?” Raphael asked after a bit.

Luca groaned. The food was delicious, and he was actually full, but the pain was creeping back up. “What did Dr. Alling send?”

“Unlike most people around here, I didn’t go snooping.” Raphael leaned forward for the small bag and tossed it into Luca’s lap. “Chaz just said take it with food, and it might cause constipation.”

Luca snorted as he tipped one of the pills into his hand, then pushed himself up to his feet and hobbled across the room to the fridge for water. “You want something to drink?”

“Not booze. He also said not booze,” Raphael called.

Grabbing two glasses of water, Luca made it back to the sofa in one piece, then took the pill down and sighed. He wished he’d remembered ice, or literally anything frozen he could use to soothe the ache, because the twenty minutes it was going to take to kick in felt like twenty hours.

“I have to say,” Raphael said after a minute, grabbing the bag to clean up their mess, “breaking your dick is definitely new as far as accidents in the city go.”

“Aren’t I special, then,” Luca groused. He shuffled deeper into his cushions and closed his eyes, waiting—praying—for a little relief. “Maybe I’ll set some records before I leave.”

“Maybe.” He heard Raphael messing with the bags, but when he thought the man might get up and go, instead he felt him reach over and take his hand. “I used to have a lot of surgeries. We’d have to go to Brussels and stay for weeks with my aunt there who had this tiny flat. My mom would make me a little bed on the floor with all the blankets she could find, but the only thing that ever helped was when she’d sit and hold my hand and talk to me.”

Luca opened his eyes and glanced over, watching Raphael’s careful expression—the way he was holding himself kind of tense and unsure. He squeezed Raphael’s fingers gently and didn’t pull away. “I don’t think a bruised dick is as bad as all that.”

Raphael snorted. “I don’t know. I’ve taken an accidental crutch to the balls before, and I would take a hundred tendon surgeries over that.”

Luca couldn’t help his grin. “I threw up. Like…instantly.”

“Mm.” Raphael shifted even closer, then took Luca’s hand between both of his and began to massage his fingers. “I don’t doubt it.”

Luca let out an involuntary sigh, and his eyes closed again. “How are you so good at this but you don’t do it for a living?”

Raphael chuckled as he ran his thumbs over the tendons of Luca’s wrist, easing them into relaxation. “I got into massage from a friend when I was younger. I kept it up when I realized it helped keep my fingers from getting too stiff. They’re not as spastic as my legs, but they don’t have the same dexterity as other people. Apparently I have a talent for it, but this is not how I want to spend my day.”

“You’d make a shitload of money if you moved to LA and opened up a studio,” Luca said, his voice getting thicker as his pill started to ease its way into his bloodstream.

“I’m not interested in money. I’m happy here.” Raphael switched hands, and Luca fell a little more sideways, but didn’t bother to right himself. “I know you’ve had a rough time, but you should give it a chance.”

“Promised I would,” Luca muttered. He slung his free arm over his eyes and breathed out as the pain in his groin began to ebb away. “Promised Wilder too. He asked for a week.”

Raphael chuckled again, digging his thumbs into the heel of Luca’s palm. “You are something special.”

“No…”

“Yes,” Raphael said over his protest. “But it’s not up to me to convince you. I don’t hate that you want to stick around, though.”

Luca wanted to protest, but the pill was hitting him faster than expected, and everything felt sort of heavy and soft all at the same time. His tongue moved to lick his bottom lip, but it was sluggish, and sleep tugged at his edges.

“Rest,” Raphael said from somewhere far off. Luca hadn’t noticed him get up, but suddenly there was a blanket on his legs, and he shifted so he could stretch his feet toward the arm of the sofa.

His shoes were off—which, when did that happen—and he could move without his stomach heaving a protest. Luca’s breathing started to even, and he was pretty sure Raphael said something else, but it was easier to succumb to the pressing darkness, and the final, soothing push of the drug that was taking most of his pain.

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