"They gave you this back at the hospital?" he asks.
"Yep." I’m trying hard to keep my tone chill.
"For what?"
I can't help a laugh. "Well, for my asthma."
He frowns at the bottle again before frowning more deeply at me. "Were you on this before?"
Ah, hell. "Well, no." I try to keep my face blank as he tilts his head.
"So why did they prescribe it?"
"To help with my asthma."
“Even after you came home?”
I suck a breath in, cursing myself for leaving the damn thing so close to the duvet that the covers knocked the wash cloth on the fucking floor.
I’m opening my mouth to tell him I’m not worse now, but that they realized I should have been on this before I was hurt—a lie—when he shakes his head, looking pissed off.
"So what happened made it worse. Being on that ventilator. Having your lungs get hurt.” He reaches up into his hair, his fingers tugging. “Shit. I fucking knew it would—"
"Did you just drop an F-bomb?"
"Yes. Because of you!"
I laugh again, and take the bottle from him. Then I wrap my arms around him, snuggling up to him and tucking the covers around us both.
"It's not funny.” He looks anguished, his eyes still red from his nightmare. “What happened was my fault. I’m never going to not feel bad about it. Your arm—” He shakes his head, for which I’m grateful; he used to talk about my elbow all the time—just using it to beat himself up. “And now the asthma,” he says. “What exactly happened to your lungs?”
“You gonna trade me in?” I’m teasing, playing out my insecurity if anything, but he sits up, putting space between us, looking livid. “No, but you could trade up. Find yourself someone that isn’t recognizable from just the way they walk.”
I smirk. “Have you read all that stuff on Reddit?”
“Reddit?” He rubs his head. “No, I haven’t. Am I being mocked on Reddit?”
“You’re being turned into .gifs because they want that thic ass.”
He rubs his eyes, exhaling loudly. “Tell me, Rayne. Tell me what they told you at the hospital, about your asthma.”
My pulse quickens. “Dude, it was nothing. They just said to take this pill and it’ll help me.”
“Are you having trouble?” He lowers his hand, pinning me with his eyes, which look anguished.
“No.” I shake my head.
Sky’s hand goes back over his face. “It’s still my fault. This whole thing.”
I scoot closer to him, gritting my teeth at the pain in my shoulder and then shifting onto my knees so I can rise up a little bit and brush kisses over his brow. "Sky, Sky, Sky..." I kiss his cheek, scratchy from needing a shave. "I thought we were avoiding cognitive distortions?"
"This is not a damn distortion."
"Who is this guy with the potty mouth and where is my preacher?"
He rubs his eyes, and a tear falls, and I feel fucking awful as my stomach does a rollercoaster drop.
"Shit. I'm sorry." I hug him, and he scoots back toward the headboard, pushing me off as he does. Then he gets down off the bed, which I'm learning is a sign he's really freaked out. I'm trying to decide if I should go after him when he gets back on the bed, sits cross-legged, and covers his face with one hand. His shoulders hunch as he bends down, so I can’t really see his face. "I'm sorry, Rayne."
"Hey, buddy. Don't be sorry. We're all good."
He nods, and I sit close enough so I could touch him—though I don't, because I can't tell if he wants it.
"My asthma is fine," I lie. "Daily meds make sense. I've been on them before," I tell him. Another lie. “There are no side effects.” At least that part is true.
He lifts his head. "You have?"
I nod. "Almost all asthma peeps take medicine for it. It's no big deal." You’re a goddamn liar.
"Why did you hide it from me?” he asks.
"Well, I guess I didn't want you worried."
"You don't trust me."
"Sky…” I shake my head, and his lips twist into a harsh frown.
"Do you really, Vance? Or are you scared I'll break things off if I get spooked?"
I suck in a big breath. "Are you sure the middle of the night is the right time for this, McD?"
"Yes, it is. I can tell you're nervous—I’m making you nervous right now—so that moves it even further up the urgent list."
I make a note to myself: McD has an ‘urgent’ list. Then I tilt my head to one side. "How? Can you tell?"
"I don't know. Because it's obvious?" He gives me a glower. "And I know you're shoulder's hurting. I could smell the weed rub before, and right now I smell the...what is that? Some sort of merlot?"
"God, you're like a bloodhound." I crack a small smile, and his lips twitch. He presses them flat again.