Page 69 of All I Have Left

EVIE

G rayson sleeps soundly, moving very little through the night. I know this has to do with all his medications.

I lie next to him, tugging at my pajama shirt that keeps slipping off my shoulders. Staring at the clock, I realize he has physical therapy in Montgomery this morning and it’s going to take an hour to get there.

Gently, I touch my fingertips to his bare shoulder. He stirs, his breathing evening out, his lashes fluttering. Scooting closer, I lay my head in the crook between his chest and shoulder. A sound leaves his lips and I’m not sure if I’ve hurt him or not.

My eyes snap to his. They’re open, staring at the ceiling but his body responds when my hand rests on his stomach. It’s dark in his room, the curtains drawn to create a more even light for him. Sweat glistens at his temples. His skin’s sticky to the touch.

Crap. What if he’s spiked a fever again? Does he have an infection?

His breathing picks up, the muscles in his stomach tensing.

His hand moves from his side, covering mine on his stomach.

For a moment, we don’t move, until he lifts my hand and rolls onto his side.

That’s when I realize what’s about to happen.

Heat crashes over me and before I know it, I’m flat on my back and he’s on top of me, his erection pressing between my legs.

A moan escapes my lips. I didn’t realize how badly I needed his touch, until now. I grab onto his shoulders, yanking him to me, a carnal passion igniting inside me.

“Fuck.” A growl comes from deep within him, his hips twitching as his tongue runs up my arched neck, jaw, and then my lips. “I want inside you,” he mumbles, his cock slides over my clit, barely concealed in my skimpy bottoms in the most delicious way.

“Me too.” My thighs damn near shake. No, they actually shake. Palming my breast, my pajama shirt slips up as his mouth teases mine. Rolling my hips, I savor the tingle that erupts inside me, my legs widening. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted him so much as I do now, but we can’t do this.

For a moment, I don’t stop him. I let him grind into me, his groans of pleasure too hard to deny.

It happens suddenly, Grayson’s movement of lifting his head that causes a sharp pain, or dizziness, I’m not entirely sure but his entire body turns rigid. His movement falters and his hand jets out to catch himself, pulling my hair in the process.

I yelp, not expecting it, his sharp breath of pain following. He rolls off me just as quickly, grunting in pain and grabbing his head. “Goddamn it,” he grunts, bringing his knees up.

“I’m sorry. Did I do something wrong?” I sit up against this headboard.

Twisting around, he swings his legs over the side of the bed. “I’m going to shower.”

“Do you need help?”

“No.” And then the door slams and I’m left feeling rejected again.

Blowing out a breath, I shake my head, righting my pajamas.

Once I hear the shower turn on, I get dressed and make my way down the hall for some coffee. Julia is in the kitchen along with Frankie. They’re talking about the wedding .

“How’d he sleep?” Julia asks, sending a coffee cup my way.

“Good, I think. He’s showering.” I pour myself a cup and then reach for the creamer on the counter. “He has PT in Montgomery this morning.”

“You look flustered,” Frankie notes, standing from her place at the table, dressed in scrubs.

I wait until Julia leaves the room before I spill my guts. “He rolled over this morning, on top of me, then started, well, you know. Anyways, it didn’t get very far and he must have had a pain or dizziness and tensed up. It ended shortly after that.”

“Oh.” She smiles. “He’s probably incredibly frustrated. Not only does he want to have sex, physically, it might cause too much pain for him.”

“I totally get it. I just don’t know how to make it better.”

“There’s always giving a helping hand.” She gestures, peeling a banana.

I laugh. “Oh my God, you’re too much.”

“Hey, if it helps him out, you never know.”

Now there’s an idea. I could do that for him. That wouldn’t hurt him too much, would it?

I take Grayson to physical therapy later that morning after he refuses to eat, but he manages coffee. He’s… unresponsive for the most part, barely holding conversation and frustrated they told him it’ll be a year before he can drive again.

On the drive back to the house, I make conversation, but he offers very little besides a nod or a grunt.

“Did I do something to upset you this morning?”

That gets a response. “No.” Just one word. Nothing more.

I switch lanes on the highway, chewing on my bottom lip and trying to find something else to say. “If it’s sex, I mean, I could like, take care of you. I know they said we can’t have sex but there’s other things we could do.”

He rolls his head to the side, staring at me. His brow creases momentarily. “You don’t need to.”

Why not? Has he already done it himself?

Does he not want it? I’m dying to know, yet I’m plagued with insecurities.

Heat engulfs me and I turn the air-conditioning up a notch.

He looks over at me, probably noticing the flush of my cheeks.

Sighing, he grunts out another breath. “It’s not that I don’t want to. ”

“Then what is it?”

No answer.

So, I blurt, “Frankie’s pregnant,” to see what his response might be.

Nothing.

I look over at him, angry that he’s ignoring me. “Did you hear me?”

He runs his hand over his head, staring out the window. “Yes.”

“That’s exciting for them, huh?”

“Sure.”

“Grayson,” I sigh. “C’mon. I’m trying here. I feel like you don’t seem to care about anything these days.”

“Yet you keep trying to fix me,” he mumbles, still looking out the window.

“Because that’s what people in love do,” I snap. “You don’t have to be an asshole.”

His jaw clenches, his body tense next to mine, but he says nothing else to me the rest of the drive home. I don’t either.

Humiliation works through me and I begin to wonder why I’m putting in so much effort.

I know loving someone through a traumatic event takes time.

This is not going to happen overnight and we’re going to have days like this.

It’s not like in the movies when they wake up from a coma and everything is fine.

Trauma doesn’t work like that. It’s months, hell, maybe even years before you heal.

When we get back to the house, I’m in the bedroom going through his laundry when I hear his truck start up in the driveway and the roar it makes when he takes off in it .

Alone.

I see two problems with this.

He’s not allowed to drive.

And… if I know Grayson, I know what he’s about to do.