Page 122 of Raise Me Up

I avoid adjusting my semi. “Focus on recovering.”

Sinking deeper into the seat, he shuts his eyes. “I’m gonna recoverso good. Get ready.”

With a huffed laugh, I tuck myself into the seat behind Stas so I can have eyes on Beau the entire drive home.

As soon as we pull into my garage, I hop out of the car. “Hold the troublemaker hostage for a minute.”

I wrangle the excited dog into the backyard before returning to help walk Beau inside.

“Bed or couch?” Stasi asks.

“No more bed. I beg of you,” Beau replies quickly.

She prepares him a spot on the couch, dragging down pillows and blankets from the spare bedroom. When we get him comfortable, she arranges his paperwork and medications on the kitchen island.

I pull an end table beside him, setting him up with a bottle of water, fruit snacks and chips, electronic devices, and the remote for the TV.

“I appreciate both of you more than I could ever express, but we’re going to have to tone this shit down. I’m exhausted just watching the two of you rush around. Will you come snuggle with me, please?”

Stas and I exchange a look. Dropping onto the couch, I lift Beau's socked feet and set them on my lap. Stasi curls up against his side, half draped over his torso.

Beau turns on a football game and ends up passing out in the first quarter. Neither of us wants to move, fearful of waking him.

“Friday night. You staying over?” I glance at Stasi.

She bites her lip. “I could…”

My pulse hitches. “You could stay every night until he’s through recovery. You make him happy.”

Big brown eyes lock on me. “Are you serious?”

“Do I joke much, Anastasia? Yes, I’m serious.”

Her fingers curl into the fabric of Beau’s gray hoodie. “Do I make you happy?”

I lean over Beau’s body to brush a lock of hair behind her ear. “You already know the answer to that, angel.”

“Mmm.” She gives me a soft smile. “Just fishing for compliments.”

“Then yes. You make me happy.”

She nuzzles her cheek against my hand. "Yeah. I’ll stay until he’s back on his feet.”

thirty-six

Stasi

To say it’s a rough couple of weeks is an understatement.

Liam shuttles Beau to his neurology and therapy appointments during the weekdays, and I take over evening PT appointments so Liam can clock some time at the studio.

Beau spends most of his days napping or binge-watching TV. During week two of recovery, he complained about boredom, so I brought him a stack of manga—the only books I own besides textbooks.

Week three was where things took a turn for the worst. Beau slipped into a funk we can’t seem to pull him out of. I’ve done my best to stay strong, but I feel myself breaking down with every heavy sigh he releases.

Fifteen minutes until Liam’s home.

I’m counting down the minutes on the couch, snuggled up in one of Beau’s hoodies as I gloss over our shared calendar on my computer to make sure I haven’t missed adding Beau's appointments or reminders for Hail’s wedding.