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He scoffed as he leaned for the drawer that I could easily reach and pulled out a packet holding a bag and a new catheter.
I could do this in my sleep, so I didn’t pay much attention as I swapped everything out. Instead, I watched his expression in the mirror as he glared.
“We’re not going to get anywhere if you don’t start talking,” I reminded him.
“You don’t know this man.”
“There we go.”
“He’s…complicated.”
I spun around and edged him back with my wheels so I could reach the sink to wash my hands. “I’mcomplicated.”
“How many men have used you to get their freaky rocks off?”
I swiped my hands on a towel, then turned my chair to face him. “Enough that I know how to spot them before they can even open their mouths. And I think you know he’s not like that.”
He cracked a little, his face softening. “No. I don’t think he is.” Blowing out a puff of air, he stepped aside to let me through, then predicably followed me into my bedroom. Normally I did this alone, but every now and again, I let him help.
Cillian went to my dresser and took out a pair of loose pajamas, handing them off before dropping into the armchair beside the window.
“I’m not asking him to marry me,” I said as I wriggled out of my trousers. It was easier to change while I was flat on my back—which I usually did on the floor. Tonight was a mistake. My body was aching and weak from all the tension I’d been carrying. I flung my clothes to the side, then got into my pajamas. “I don’t even know what kind of life we could have.”
I heard him sigh, though my view of him was blocked by the side of the bed. “What kind of life do you want? Have you ever considered what that might look like?”
I couldn’t help but laugh as I pressed my arms to the floor and sat halfway up. “No, actually. Believe it or not, my confidence has not extended to finding a partner who was interested in all of this long term.”
Cillian sat for a beat, then stood up. He must have realized I wasn’t getting up on my own. I heard his joints pop as he knelt, but that didn’t stop him from sliding his arms under my legs, the other beneath my arms, and lifting me to the bed.
“Someday, you’re going to be too old to do that,” I told him.
“Mm. So I hope Aleric doesn’t ignore arm day in the gym.”
My face went a little numb at the thought of Aleric seeing me like this. The inglorious reality of life when we weren’t flirting and fucking and eating cheap ice cream. But the thought didn’t terrify me the way it used to.
A few years after the accident, when I was still optimistic and unsure, I used to fantasize about what life would be like. I wanted someone who saw me for exactly who I was. I didn’t want that bullshit “I don’t see disability” crap. But I didn’t want that to be the first thing or the only thing they saw.
I wanted them to feel good about my limp dick but not obsessed with it in a way that made me feel like some kind of object.
Life quickly made me realize that was too much to ask. Or so I thought.
Aleric didn’t touch me where I didn’t want to be touched. He didn’t ask to taste anything I didn’t offer him. But he wasn’t afraid of me either.
He took me as I was—the way I took him.
The way it was supposed to be.
And it would have been perfect. Itshouldhave been perfect.
But there was still that one thing.
“They’ll never give him peace. Not for a second after we go public,” I murmured.
Cillian sighed and sat down beside me as I adjusted my pillows and lay back. His gaze was soft, kind, like the father I’d always wanted but never did get the chance to know. “Do you think they’ll give him peace anyway? If this whole…TV business is what you all think it’s going to be, he might not have that option anyway. And if that’s the case, how can it hurt to have you by his side?”
I took a deep breath and let that sink in.
“Unless,” Cillian added, softer this time, “you’re worried what his reputation might do toyou?”