Maybe Javi needs a reminder.
Javi’s dark brows dart inward, lips tightening into a grimace. “Maybe.”
TWENTY-NINE
Morgan
Cole puton a brave face on deck. He hid his pain behind the same impervious mask he always has, the one only I can see through, but as soon as the door to the captain’s quarters closes, his facade crumbles. Before we worked things out, he didn’t want me to see how much he needed me to give him relief. My sweet husband finally feels safe enough to show me.
With an anguished frown, he hobbles to the bed. The two rows of drawers under the captain’s bed elevate the mattress higher than ours on land, and probably make it more painful to climb into.
“Let me help you.” I rush forward, and stabilize his hips as he scoots back and perches himself on the edge of the mattress. “Sorry.”
I brace for Cole’s irritation. He used to hate when I jumped in to help before he asked.
But he’s not irritated; he shakes his head slowly. “It’s fine. Thank you.”
Has he gotten better at accepting help, or is he too weakened by pain to complain?
His knuckles blanch as he clenches the edge of the mattress. “Can you help me lie down?”
“Of course.” I cup his cheek and kiss his forehead, then carefully slide my arm under his knees and scoop him up.
It’s a routine we’re both familiar with. A broken pelvis will teach you how many muscles are connected to even the most automatic of movements. On Cole’s worst days, breathing hurt, and rolling over in bed was excruciating.
“Wow, you’re a lot heavier than I remember,” I joke.
He smiles wanly. “I may or may not have spent the last month trying to bulk up so you’d find me irresistible.”
“You’re always irresistible.” I lower him onto the bed. “That’s why it was so hard to stay away.”
Cole grimaces and pants through the pain.
I click my tongue.
“If you’re going to tell meI told you soand ban me from the deck, don’t, okay?” Cole covers his face.
“I’m not.” I tug Cole’s hands down and kiss his forehead. “Did you pack any of your stronger pain meds?”
He already took ibuprofen and Tylenol with the cheesesteaks Wes made, but clearly it’s doing nothing for him.
“I’m fine,” Cole says. “Maybe you can just give me a massage? That always helps.”
“I’m not laying a hand on you without pain meds on board.”
This is more than the run-of-the-mill pain we’ve battled. Massaging his knots when he’s already so tense will torture him.
I open the first drawer under the mattress, the most likely location if Cole kept his lube there, but only find boxer briefs and over-the-counter meds. “Where?”
“The inside pocket of my backpack.”
“Thank you.” I take the backpack off the hook on the wall.
“I only brought them because I’m scared to go through pain like that again while we’re so far away from help.”
“I don’t blame you.”
I never felt more powerless than watching him suffer with no way to help him. I dig around inside the bag until I find the bottleof oxycodone. The tamper-resistant tape is still in place, and breaks when I twist the cap off.