Who We Are (The Seafare Chronicles 2)

And to be with his family. They started to protest again, but I silenced the argument when I frantically felt the need to kiss the life out of him. By the time I was finished, his parents were embarrassed, I was turned on, and Otter had the biggest grin on his face, that face that was still healing but looking more and more like the man I knew and loved.

So I brought him home, the Kid running up ahead to open the door, Otter pushing to use the crutches even though the doctor wanted him in the wheelchair for a bit longer. But Otter had his mind focused on one thing and one thing only: walking into his house on his own. Stubborn, obstinate Otter got his way.

I hovered closely behind him, trying my best to ignore the sweat beading on his forehead and upper lip, and how out of breath he seemed to be by the time we reached the porch. He allowed me to help him up the steps, and I pretended I needed to rest for a moment before we continued, just to give him a chance to breathe. The Kid watched us by the door, poised to run out and sacrifice his body as a cushion should Otter look like he was going to fall. When Otter nudged me gently, letting me know he was ready to move again, I made a big show of saying that I’d caught my breath and was ready to go again. He nodded, not fooled in the slightest.

And he made it in, and we got him set up on the couch, and before I could pull away, he pulled the Kid and me down on him, and we both squawked as we tried to avoid landing on any part of him that still hurt. The Kid ended up with his feet in Otter’s lap, his head hanging off the end of the couch. I ended up partially trapped under the big guy.

We didn’t move for hours.

That first night, Otter scowled at the cot I’d set up for him downstairs, knowing there was no way in hell he’d make it up the fifteen steps it’d take for him to get to the second floor. The cot wasn’t big enough for the both of us, and though I’d planned on sleeping next to him on the couch, he’d snapped at me that he didn’t need a fucking babysitter and that I should just go up to bed.

And I did.

It hurt, finally having him home yet not being able to lie down next to him. I’d tossed and turned for over an hour, until I heard a muffled scratching noise coming from the hall. Someone cursed, and then the door to the bedroom opened and Otter hobbled in, completely drenched in sweat. He hopped and skipped over to the bed, dropping his crutches along the way. I just watched and waited. He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled his wet shirt up and over his head and then laid down on his pillow, turning to look at me defiantly, like he was expecting me to scold him. Instead, I got up and got a towel from the bathroom and wiped him down. I threw the towel onto the floor and wrapped myself around him. “I sleep up here from now on,” he muttered. “Don’t you tell me where I can and can’t sleep in my own house.”

“Don’t call me your fucking babysitter,” I said, scowling right back.

He sighed. “I missed my bed.”

“Neat.”

“I missed you more.”

“Shut up.” A pause. “Me too.”

There was quiet, at least for a while. I was drifting off when I heard him say my name.

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For not being there when you needed me.”

I refused to let him see how his words affected me, but a tremor slipped through, and his grip around me tightened. “Yeah,” I said hoarsely.

“That first day must have been hard.”

“It was.” Not to mention every day that followed, but that didn’t need to be said.

Silence. Then, “Bear?”

“Yeah?”

“You knew I was coming back for you, right? That I’d never leave you?”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Bear?”

“Yeah?”

“You were strong, weren’t you? You were the strong one. For everyone else.”

“I guess.” I shuddered again.

He kissed my forehead. “You’ve always been the strong one,” he whispered in the dark. “I’m glad you finally figured it out. But if it’s okay with you, I think I’ll be strong enough for both of us, at least for a while. Is that okay with you?”