Page 13 of Unmasking You (Hidden Hearts #1)

Chapter 12

Shane

I barely remember the drive home. No, not my home, but his. It only took saving his dog and breaking a few bones to have him inviting me over. Actually, staying with him so he could take care of me.

A bump in the road sends a flare of pain up my leg. The throb in my shoulder and the live-in headache return with a vengeance that leaves me so dizzy it makes everything hazy.

Jamie hasn’t said a word since we left the hospital, not that I was expecting him to talk to me. He’d been very clear when he said he didn’t want to talk to me. He hadn’t said much in the last three days either, talking only when other people were around. I can’t blame him. He’s not happy, and I understand why he’s like this. I was a dick when we were younger, and I’ve been nothing but a stalker since we met again as adults. His hands are gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles are white.

After all these years spent apart, we should be strangers, but instead, at least for me, it’s like we never lost contact. I’m sure he would throw me out of the car if I said that to him, though.

I should be grateful for the silence, but instead it’s like a weight taking away all the air in the car. Since we met, memories I didn’t know I had have been resurfacing, and they’re not picturing a good version of me. The wrongdoing I’m guilty of cannot be swept like dust under the carpet.

Another bump in the road has me hissing in pain, but I don’t expect Jamie to care.

“Sorry,” comes from his side of the car. For a moment, I believe it’s my concussed brain playing games with me.

“It’s okay. The roads are atrocious,” I say, turning my head towards him.

But no, he’s back looking straight ahead, the dim light making it impossible to see his face and understand if he was offering an olive branch.

I guess not.

When he’s parked the car in his assigned parking space, Jamie is out even before I can thank him. He stands outside the car for a moment. I bet having to help me, of all people, is some kind of punishment for him he doesn’t deserve.

If I could have relied on my family, I would have thanked Jamie and asked him to drop me off at mine, but other than that, I’ve been a victim of the silent treatment.

He comes to my side, and then he must think better of it because he walks towards the lift instead. I let out a sigh of frustration and move around, trying to get out of the car. I bang my head on the headrest when the door suddenly opens, again hissing in pain.

“Sorry,” he says, extending a hand but then stopping midway as if realising he’ll have to touch me. He takes a deep breath and extends it fully this time.

I try to get out of the car with minimal physical effort.

He crouches down next to me and does something, making the seat move backwards, giving me space to move my leg without bending it too much. It takes a bit for Jamie to help me out because I’m heavier than he is and because I’m not really stable on my feet. But I don’t have to be because parked next to the car is a wheelchair.

I look at it, then at Jamie, and finally I measure the distance I have to cross from the car to the door with the crutch I stubbornly decided I wanted to use and… it’s never going to happen, not with my injuries, and not with how tired I am.

When he opens the door of his apartment, I expect to see something similar to mine, something cold and pompous. Instead, his place has a homey feel, decorated with warm tones all around and shelves full of books just across from the entrance. It reminds me of him with his nose deep inside one of them.

He pushes me in when he enters, and with each step he takes inside, I love his place even more. The entrance leads to an open space. On the right, a beautiful kitchen, a mix of high-level technology and furniture in a warm brown colour. I can smell the faint scent of coffee and freshly baked cake.

On the left is a big comfy sofa in a deep brown colour I wish I could sit on. In front of it, a TV screen and a PS5. All things I was expecting to find in Jamie’s house.

When he stops, putting the brake on, I stand, using the chair as a support. He looks at me but doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to, as his disapproving glare is enough.

“You’re staying in the guest room,” he says, and without turning back, he marches towards a door that I now believe separates the day space from the night one.

He must truly hate me. I know I remind him of the things he wants to forget.

My legs feel shaky, but I force myself to place one foot after the other—or should I say one foot after a crutch—but I’m at my physical limit, and I stumble. I don’t hit the floor, but only because Jamie is there to catch me.

How many times before, without even knowing it, was he the one keeping me standing and giving me what no one had given me before? The courage to try to break free.

“You should have taken the wheelchair, you stubborn prick,” he mumbles, but loud enough for me to hear it.

“I can manage if you give me a second.”

“No you can’t,” he snaps, his voice tense. “Just… let me help,” he says, gentler than before, while coming closer and awkwardly placing his arm around my waist.

Even through the layers of clothes, his barely there touch burns like fire and raises the guilt that fills me every time I think about us. Sometimes, I’m sure there’s more, just like when a word sits on the tip of your tongue and no matter how hard you try it never comes to you. Sometimes, I’m sure my memories are the same.

Once again, I realise how much he’s changed. The boy who used to stay silent and avoid confrontation is now ready to take everyone on, or at least me.

By the time we reach the guest room, I can no longer stand the proximity. I’m about ready to give up. I desperately want to kiss him when he accompanies me to the bed, removing the cover and helping me sit down.

He bends down and helps me remove the only shoe I have, and then very gently, mindful of my battered body, he helps me lie down, adjusting my pillow before covering me with the duvet.

I close my eyes as soon as the weight is off my leg, and I relax against the soft mattress.

“I’ll get you some water and painkillers,” he says, still fussing with the covers.

I think I nod, but I can’t be sure because my tired body is pulling me into a very welcome sleep.

“Don’t fall asleep before I’m back,” he says, his tone harsh again.

I know having me here must be challenging for him, so I open my eyes—not without difficulty, as they’re heavy with sleep and exertion. Jamie hands me the pills and then helps me sit up so I can take them. Then he helps me to lie back once more. His touch lessens the pain, even more than any pill I could ever take.

I want to ask him to stay, but I don’t want to break the peace we have going on right now.

“Call me if you need anything.” Without another word, he walks away.

“Thank you,” I say before he leaves. I wish I could ask him to stay, but even I know he would kick me out.

“I’m not doing it for you. It’s only because you saved my dog and because I lied to the police and the hospital.”

The click of the door closing sounds definitive, as if by closing it, he’s not only closing me out but shutting the door on any chance we might have had at a future.

The smell of food wakes me up and makes my stomach growl. I could cry with relief at being away from the hospital and not having to eat their food.

I move, but when my leg makes its presence known, I stop very quickly. My head reminds me of the concussion I’m still nursing. I’m still convinced it’s a small price to pay for saving Queen, and for Jamie to avoid the pain of losing her.

I try to roll onto my right side, but the pain flaring up stops me. A sound near the door grabs my attention, and there is Jamie, wearing an unreadable expression.

“Good morning,” I say to him when he doesn’t talk or come in.

“I’ll bring you some breakfast.”

He’s gone before I can say anything.

When the smell fills the room, my stomach growls again. He places the tray on the chest of drawers and comes over to help me sit up.

He hands me the tray, and I spot the pain pills next to a plate of fluffy eggs and bread with butter.

I raise my head to thank him, but he’s already gone. I eat slowly, enjoying every single mouthful. I’m just setting my fork down when Jamie comes back in.

He doesn’t talk but comes close and places a bottle of water on the bedside table. When he glances at the tray and finds it empty, he picks it up and turns around, ready to walk away.

Is he going to leave without saying anything?

“I’ll be back when it’s time to take your pills. Call me if you need anything.”

Is this how it’s going to be?

“I can leave if my presence bothers you so much,” I say, trying to get a reaction from him.

“I promised to take care of you, and that’s what I’ll do. But we are not friends. I don’t want to talk about the past, and if you try, I’ll throw you out.”

His words hurt. I didn’t think anything was going to change just because I saved his dog, but I don’t know who this heartless man standing in front of me right now is. But then something flickers in his eyes, something that reminds me of when we were friends.

That something gives me hope… that while I’m here I’ll have a chance to convince him to listen.

Just once.

Please, just give me a chance.

Just one.