Gentleman Sinner

I try not to think about how much more there is to fix now. ‘I’m going to fix you.’ I kiss his neck and relish the comfort I get from feeling his body warming.

He uses too much effort to lift his arm so he can feel my hair, hissing a few times on the way. His fingers weave through the strands gently, his movements a little jerky, though the sensation is still so comforting. ‘You saved my life,’ he whispers.

I smile my understanding, closing my eyes and enjoying our closeness as I thank every god in history for sparing him. He isn’t talking about saving his life today. He’s talking about from the moment we touched.Chapter 28

He’s so slow. Almost like an old man as he hobbles in short bursts before he’s exhausted and has to take a rest. I’m on the couch in his lounge pretending to read, but I’m peeking discreetly over the top of my book, keeping an eye on him as he makes his way back from the bathroom. He stops at the sideboard and rests his hand on top, taking a break. It’s only been four weeks. The doctor has said it’s time to start getting up and moving around, but just a little to start. That was a week ago, and I can see a tiny bit of progress each day.

Those small steps are never enough for Theo, though. He was on his back for three weeks, and had two operations – one to repair a severed artery that was causing the internal bleeding, and one to crack his shoulder into place. He’s expecting too much of himself.

I haven’t pressed for the sordid details of his stupid stunt. He told me he was at his wits’ end, needed someone to beat the guilt out of him. I still can’t bend my mind around such self-hatred. Callum, however, wanted details.

I couldn’t listen, so I left the room with Jess, deciding I’d rather hear what’s going on between her and Callum. Apparently, nothing, and she seems accepting of that. They have an understanding, so I’m told. Personally, I think they’re both delusional idiots, but, selfishly, I have no intention to help them along to realization. Theo is my priority. Just Theo. My old man. He’s been through the wringer, and the toll it’s taken on him is all too clear. His muscles have shrunk, he’s a little pasty, and he can barely move without running out of breath. But he still looks at me with that familiar adoration in his eyes. He still reads my mind and my moves. And that dimple I love so much is making appearances more and more each day. He’s still my peace, and I’m happier now than ever. Our secrets are no longer holding us back or dictating the path of our love.

I quickly flick my eyes back to my book when his head slowly lifts in my direction. ‘I know you’re watching me,’ he mumbles, starting towards me again. ‘Bet you’re wondering what you’ve let yourself in for.’ He lowers to the couch by my feet and lets out a long, exhausted breath.

I snap my book shut and toss it on the floor. ‘It’s going to take time, Theo,’ I remind him for the millionth time. ‘You were technically dead.’ I poke his bare thigh with my toe, smiling when he looks down at my pink polished toes thoughtfully.

Claiming my foot, he lifts it on to his thigh, doing a terrible job of hiding the effort it’s taking him, and starts massaging. ‘Tell me again.’

‘What?’

‘The story of how you saved my life.’ He smiles across the couch, his eyes glossy with life. ‘It’s my favourite story.’

‘I didn’t save your life. The man giving CPR saved your life.’

‘Because you threatened him.’ He grins a little, proud and smug. ‘I wish I could have seen your sass being thrown around that room.’

I roll my eyes, but I can smile about it now. ‘I knew you were still with me.’

‘I could hear you.’ He lets his head rest on the back of the couch, looking at me as he massages my foot. ‘It was weird.’

‘I bet your level of weirdness didn’t match my level of fear.’

His lips press together a little, thoughtful, his eyes dropping to his working hands on my foot. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘For scaring me?’

‘Of course for that, but more for leaving you.’ He glances up at my face. Theo didn’t get to see the blackening of my eye or how it became so swollen, it shut completely. I’m glad. It would have only taken his guilt to another level, if that’s possible. Which I don’t think it is.

As the silence lingers, I steel myself to ask what I’ve been afraid to ask since I found him again. I don’t want to know how or why he ended up at the fight club on the docks. That I don’t think I could hear. Seeing the result is something I’ll never wipe from my memory. But what about the time prior to that? I haven’t asked. I’ve waited weeks for Theo to find the strength he needs to share what happened after that horrible day, but he hasn’t, and despite promising myself I wouldn’t push him to talk about a time I know pains him, I’ve gotten to a point where I feel that he must. Like therapy, I guess. He can’t move on until he’s relieved of the burden, and neither can I. It’s the last piece of the puzzle I need.