That works. Dante nodded and took the shirt. “Do you want a drink?”
“Of what?”
“Tea? I don’t drink booze, so it’s pretty much all I’ve got.”
“I don’t drink booze either. What kind of tea is it?”
“The dandelion stuff that was in the cupboards when I got here. It tastes like old jeans, but that means it’s good for you, right?”
“Dandelion is good for inflammation and fatigue, but I can’t drink it because it makes my heart beat too fast.”
“Water then?”
“Yeah. Okay.”
Dante retreated to the kitchen and filled a glass with water from the tap and mint leaves from the plant on the windowsill.
He took it back to Sid and handed it over.
Sid took the glass and grinned. “It’s almost as pretty as you are.”
“I’m pretty?”Even with my roadkill foot?
Sid nodded. “Fuck yeah. Has no one ever told you that before?”
“Not since I was a kid, and that was only when my brother was out of the room.”
“He must be a stunner.”
“Yup.” Dante’s living room was exactly the same as Sid’s, minus the colourful cushions, rugs, and blankets piled on the couch. He sat on the coffee table like he had at the start of the week when he’d eased Sid from his kitchen floor. “He never believed it, though.”
“Humble?”
Dante shrugged. “Yeah.”
Sid sipped the water, then set the glass down. “I’m sorry about this week and... what happened before. Whoever moved first, I shouldn’t have put you in that position.”
Dante took a breath, measuring his words with the creeping heat in his chest. “Which part are you talking about? Because if you’re apologising for being sick—”
“I’m not. I’m apologising that you’ve been on your own all week, because my fault or not, it’s not fucking fair. AndI’m apologising for getting physical with you when I’ve got no business doing that shit with anyone.”
Echoes of an earlier conversation rang distantly in Dante’s mind. Over the past week, he’d been so focused on helping Sid get better, he’d pushed everything else away. “You said something like that before. What does it mean?”
Sid sighed and shook his head. “You don’t want to know.”
“Why did I ask then?”
“Okay, then maybe I don’t want to tell you. Does that work better?”
“If it’s true.”
“What doesthatmean?”
Dante leaned closer, letting instinct rule himagain, and spoke the truth as he saw it because he had nothing else. “I think something’s eating you up, and you want to tell me, even if you don’t know it yet.”
“Psychic, are you?”
“What do you think?”