“I do. But maybe later? You need to get off this floor before you put down roots.”
Mickey helped Benito stand and guided him to the bedroom. His bed was perfectly made with fresh white sheets, like no one ever slept in it, but wherever Benito usually laid his head, he had little choice now. He was so dizzy he could hardly stand.
He sat on the edge of the bed and buried his face in his hands.
Mickey gave him a moment, then helped him into bed.
Benito shivered, still cold.
Mickey rubbed his arms, then turned to leave the room and raid the kitchen.
Benito clutched his hand. “Don’t go. Please—I—”
His breath caught.
“Hey, hey.” Mickey turned back and pulled Benito into a fierce embrace. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Benito made a low, broken sound.
Mickey rubbed his back and held him tighter. “Shh. Just breathe, man. I’m right here.”