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"Fine, then can we go out and get it? I really need it," I whine. The second those computers clicked on, so did my cravings, and now it's almost overwhelming. Like an addict, my computers are a trigger to my sugar addition, and I need it now.

He doesn't respond, which sends my annoyance to the physical harm level. I shove his leg, but my annoyed huff falls flat as my hand doesn't meet muscle. Staring wide-eyed at his right foot, I slide his pants leg up an inch. His stare burns into me, but I stay focused on the metal rod.

"Did... did I do that?"

"I told you," he growls and pushes up to his elbows, then swings his legs over the bed, out of my reach. "You didn't do anything to me. And no, I did this to myself." With an exaggerated sigh, he falls back to the bed and runs a hand down his face.

"When?"

He doesn't respond, doesn't look up.

"When?" I say a little louder, glancing back to the metal rod where his ankle should be.

"When... when... hmm. Before. Yeah, before today."

"Don't fuck with me, Nash," I seethe. "When exactly did that happen?"

After running a hand over his hair, he stares up to the ceiling. "Gangrene had set in by the time I got to a hospital. They had to take it off to save my life."

"All of it." I'm not sure I'm breathing. The room spins and the walls close in.

"Below the knee. I did it to myself—"

"But if you hadn’t been there, if I hadn’t sent those girls first—"

Having heard enough, I spin on my heels and bolt for the door. Maybe if I leave and come back, the outcome will be different. It’s not sound reasoning, but it's all I can think of in the moment. Because knowing my actions cost this man part of his body is too much.

Two feet from the door, I'm hauled back against a solid chest as an arm wraps around my waist. I fight forward, getting nowhere.

"Do you want to know the worst part of waking up in that hospital? It wasn't learning I'd lost part of my leg. It was learning you were gone and untraceable. It's been difficult learning to walk with this contraption and cope with it all, but I managed. But what I couldn't move past was you. I can't sleep. The nights are so damn long without your voice pouring through the dark." Wrapping my hands around my face, I cry as he tells me everything I dreamed he would. "I'll never regret not getting on the chopper, coming after you instead. It gave me you. There was a brief moment of time when I was miserable, but I met you. You mean everything to me, Pops. I'll give you the other leg if you'll just stay. Stay with me."

He grips my shoulders and swivels me around to face him. Rough hands wrap around mine and pull them from my face. When I dare to open my eyes, his are on me, searching. I know what he's searching for—permission. In slow motion, his hands lift, hovering in the air for a brief second before cupping my cheeks. My eyes shutter closed at the warmth pouring from him to me.

"I'll give you whatever you want if you'll just stay," he murmurs.

Everything below my belly button trembles and throbs as a thumb brushes over my lower lip. My breathing turns ragged as sweat from our undeniable heat beads along my palms.

"Stop," I whisper and pull from his grasp. It’s happening too fast. The way I feel, the way my body responds to his touch, his look, it's more than I've ever felt. I'm out of control. If he pushes me against the wall, I won’t stop him—I'll beg him for it.

Who the hell am I turning into? This isn't me. This wanting, the need to feel his skin against mine, is new. Even with guys in the past, I've never wanted like this.

Anger and resentment pulse behind his eyes as his hands drop. "Why are you pushing me away? You want this as much as I do—I can see it. So stop fighting it."

Unable to stop my next words, because they come from my heart instead of my head, I say, "Because it means more. You mean more. Everything about you is too much."