Sloth (Sinful Secrets 1)

But I see an IV pole. With IV bags. I see a rolling table with a newspaper, a black thermos. Both things are right beside a recliner. The chair is angled toward the room’s far right wall. I can see the foot-rest part is out—and something white on it.

I walk closer. It’s hard to breathe.

I don’t know what I think I’ll find, but as I come to stand in front of the recliner, I’m shocked and not surprised at all to find him lying on his right side, bundled up in sheets. They sag down his left bicep, so I can see how bruised his shoulder is.

I blink a few times. There are pillows propped behind his back and left side, propping him in this position, so all his weight is on the right side of his body. I can’t see under the sheet, but his ribs are hurt just like his shoulder. I remember that.

I rub my palm against my lips and blink, and his swollen, bruised shoulder blurs, as if the bruising is nothing but a watercolor. I could reach my fingers out and smudge it all away…

And still, it’s easier to look there than at his face. His cheekbone and the skin around his eye are bruised deep purple, almost black.

Anger bubbles up in me, even as I sink into a crouch beside the chair’s right arm. My face is level with his now. When he opens his eyes, he’ll see me. Breathe, Cleo. I watch his eyelids…watch his mouth. I can see his pulse throb over his brow.

Wake up, Kellan. Please wake up…

My fingers flex. I want to touch him. Stroke his hair. He hasn’t shaved. Does that mean he’s too hurt to get up? I blink, and a tear drops down my cheek. His mouth tautens, lips pressed together. It’s just a flicker of expression, there then gone, but it’s enough to make my hand grip the chair’s arm.

I lean closer to the chair and say his name…so soft, but loud enough to rouse him if he isn’t sleeping hard.

His eyes stay closed, but he shifts his shoulders, the tiny movement just enough to send the sheet over his torso sliding down more. I peruse his pretty throat, his collarbone, and…shit. The sheet falls lower still, and I can see his hand against his chest. The IV tubes—which disappear into his chest—are threaded through his fingers, and his palm is pressed above his pec, as if he’s holding himself together.

I tip my forehead toward the chair and sit there with my head bowed, hot tears dripping out my eyes.

I’m in a knot. I want to scream.

My palm trembles over his arm. I lean a little closer, till our faces are so close I feel his breath on my cheek.

Cleo is here. I might be dreaming, but... I think I’m not.

I smell her tea perfume. I hear her voice is in the air. I try to. I perceive it as something soft... not just sharp.

I have a fever. I can’t think because... the IV. If she’s here, then she can see me. I float up from where I’ve been and I can hear the beeps of the pulse ox machine.

Pain flashes all around me—I’m waking up. My face, my shoulder, ribs... My hips and back...

I feel Cleo’s hand. I twitch, and I can feel the IV tubing tug. My chest is sore...

Regret and shame.

I don’t want this.

She knows.

I can feel her fingers in my hair. Her fingers... being nice. Making me tired. But if I fall asleep, I’ll miss her. I peek and... fuck. Cleo—right here. Her pretty eyes. Her pretty mouth.

I can see her see me, because her face goes soft and sad. She says, “Sweetheart.” Her fingers dance across my brow.

“You’re sleepy, huh? You’ve got the good drugs going. That’s good.” She strokes my temple. I moan, in bliss, inside.

“I wanted to tell you, Kellan... I figured out about the letters. And R. I wanted to say... I understand. It’s crazy... like, a big surprise. But I’m not upset with you or anything.” Her fingers... sifting through my hair. “I talked to Manning just a little. It’s amazing, what you guys are doing. You’re amazing. I came to visit, but—” Her fingers dance like fog over my skin. I feel her face come up against mine, feel the warm rub of her cheek, and I’m surprised that she would... get so clo

se. “I’m really here because... I think I’d like to stay with you. Like... for a while.”

I must be dreaming.

I think Cleo’s crying, even as her soft hands stroke my hair. “I’m so sorry that I didn’t know. About all this, and R. I’m sorry I’m crying. I’ll be fine. I’m just...”

I shut my eyes. I try not to feel her hands, so I won’t feel them when she goes.