“You might fall.”

“I won’t.”

I let go, even though it felt like needles of coldness without him close.

He swayed, catching himself against the wall. I gritted my teeth to prevent saying ‘I told you so’ as he wedged a palm into his temple, blinking back stars. We had a lot of messiness between us, we didn’t need petty quips too.

“You’ll feel better when you sit down.” I followed him as he pushed off the wall and led me into a tiny lounge. My eyes skittered over the space. A TV that’d seen better days, a couch that looked recycled, and a kitchen that held no clutter or signs of being used.

The industrial tone of the warehouse flowed into his residential abode with harsh brick, exposed metal, and no-nonsense decorations.

The only thing brightening up the space was the back wall where two doors remained closed, bordered with graffiti I had no doubt Gilbert had done.

It had his signature all over it.

A vibrant wash of reds and greens, purples and blues. A tropical rainforest with palm trees, heliconias, and parrots flying in the fronds.

“Wow.” I stopped, noticing where the spray paint ran a little to give the illusion of muggy humidity, where he’d feathered the colour to give parrot wings depth and flight.

My voice barely registered as I said, “You always were amazing with a can of spray paint.”

He’d shown me some of his work when we were younger, proudly revealing his after-dark hobbies. He’d almost kissed me while pinning me against one. I’d almost offered him my virginity, all because I couldn’t stand to be so in awe and so in love with him and not claim every inch of him for my own.

He muttered something under his breath, something harsh and cutting.

I was glad I didn’t hear it as he inched toward the fake leather couch with holes in its cushions and lay down. His eyes closed, his forehead furrowing with deep tracks.

My heart squeezed unbearably as I ghosted forward. “What can I do for you?”

His lips thinned as I stopped by his side. Keeping his eyes resolutely shut, he murmured, “Go home, Olin. I’m fine.”

Ducking to my haunches, I laid a hand on his head, my fingers slinking through his hair. “Please...don’t turn me away.”

He turned to stone. His teeth sank into his bottom lip. His entire body vibrated as if he broke beneath my touch. A giant fissure through his chest. An earthquake in his soul. The couch creaked as he jerked his head away, trying to free himself from my touch.

I let my hand trail down, fingertips crying for more.

“Just lie there. I’ll look after you.” A phrase I’d uttered before. A phrase he knew I meant. No matter what’d happened between us, I would always look after him.

Gil didn’t say a word as I moved around the small lounge and into the kitchen. Opening wooden cabinets, I searched for a glass. Instead, I found bare essentials. Only a couple of each item, mostly chipped and well-worn, a couple of plastic cups and bowls only suitable for children. Splodges of dried paint decorated them, signalling they weren’t used as utensils but for means of holding pigment.

Sighing, I grabbed the least chipped glass and filled it with water. Taking it to Gil, I placed in on the low coffee table, shoving aside an unfinished sketch of a blue whale. “Where do you keep your painkillers, Gil?”

This time no argument or angry commands. His throat worked as he swallowed. “Medicine cabinet. In the bathroom.”

I didn’t ask for permission to enter a more personal part of his home just off the kitchen. I didn’t need to second-guess why there were multiple boxes of different pain relief hidden behind the mirror above the pedestal sink.

I doubted the habit of having such drugs close by would stop anytime soon, especially seeing as he’d allowed that bastard to hurt him.

He’d done nothing to protect vitals. Nothing to prevent damage.

He could have internal bleeding from being kicked in the stomach or a concussion from being knocked out.

He should see a doctor.

But he won’t.

Gil didn’t have a fond relationship with doctors, thanks to his past. He said he didn’t want his dad to be arrested for what he did to him, but I knew he didn’t want to be taken away from me and put into foster care.

I hadn’t wanted that either, but not a day went by that I didn’t beg him to tell someone, reveal what sort of hellhole he lived in, so he was no longer used as a punching bag.

Grabbing a box, I sighed heavily. Gil wouldn’t have managed most days at school without relying on popping a few pills. No matter his injuries, he’d only ever let me tend to him—no matter if they were far above my basic skills.

I had a terrible case of déjà vu.

Spinning to leave, I frowned as a whiff of synthetic strawberry shot up my nose. The sweet scent didn’t match the masculine bareness of the bathroom with its grey linoleum and white tile walls.

Glancing into the shower, I scanned the bottles on the glass shelf. Nothing—just a block of cream-coloured soap.

No sign of strawberry anything.

Sniffing the air again, nothing sweet teased me.

Not wanting to snoop, I returned to the lounge and found Gil sitting upright with his phone in his hands. The back of his neck strained. The muscles of his back visible beneath his grey T-shirt.

With a heart-wrenching groan, he raked a hand through his hair, threw his phone to the floor, and rocked over the injuries in his stomach. He trembled as if he wanted to tear apart every piece of furniture all while he almost crumpled to his knees.

My heart tripped all over again—falling over an invisible obstacle, derailing my future all because I was still in love with a man who seemed totally destroyed.

With the lightest footsteps, I padded closer and sat beside him. My hand landed gently on his thigh.

He reared back, his head soaring up, his eyes flipping open. For a second, I worried he’d strike me. I braced myself for something horrible.

But he leashed himself, his eyes bleeding pain. His voice cracked with rage and confusion. “I’m running out of strength, O.” His head bowed. His heavy palm landed over mine and squeezed.

As quickly as he’d touched me, he plucked my hand from his thigh and placed it onto mine with a firm rebuff. He shuddered, inching away from me with a faint, agony-filled hiss. “You can’t be here.”

I didn’t ask why. I didn’t offer to be his strength. That wasn’t how our friendship worked. I merely offered a place of sanctuary. No questions. No demands. Because I’d learned as a young girl that Gil didn’t need someone to tell him what to do. He just needed someone who cared.

Sniffing back years’ worth of emotion, I said, “No matter what’s happened, I care about you. I’m staying until you’re not so in pain.”

He groaned with torment, too exhausted to answer back.

Cracking open the painkillers, I popped three for him and two for me. My head hurt from being used as a weapon against that madman. “Here.”

His gaze tracked to my upturned palm. “We’re not kids anymore. I don’t need you to play nursemaid.”

I didn’t reply, reaching for the glass I’d filled for him and stealing a mouthful to swallow my own pain relief.

Comprehension darkened his face. “Did that fucking bastard hurt you?”

“I’m okay.”

His large hands landed on my shoulders, spinning me to face him. “Olin.”

His eyes trapped mine and he could no longer hide the truth. His amazing, incredible heart that held galaxies worth of love, despite his upbringing. His kindness, his concern, his—

Shutters slammed down, blocking me from seeing anymore. His fingers spasmed on my shoulders before tearing away as if I was made of flame and I’d just scorched him to his very core. “Goddammit.”

Pretending my lips weren’t on fire to kiss him and doing my best to hide my sudden trembles, I held out the pills for him again. “Take these.”