He doesn’t laugh. “Cole…”
“Sorry.” I clear my throat and shut my eyes. “My lower back and sciatic nerve.”
“Roll onto your stomach for me.”
Once I do as he asks, he flattens his hand just above my ass. My breath stalls in my chest.
“It’s not your fault that I’m hurting,” I say. “You don’t have to make me feel better.”
Gulls call. A bell rings.
“I want you to feel better because I love you. Not because I blame myself.”
His fingers start to work, massaging my lower back, focusing on the side where I broke my pelvis first.
“Loving me is a burden,” I say.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know. It’s just a fact.”
“Nah. It’s your opinion, and a bad one.”
“I don’t want reassurance.”
He hushes me and applies more pressure until I suck a breath through clenched teeth.
“Breathe through it. Relax for me.” He kisses my neck.
I whimper, not with pleasure, but pain, and bury my face inthe pillow. After all these years, the guys probably know the difference between the sound of us fucking and the sounds I’m making now. It’s humiliating.
“I know. I’m sorry.” His hands shift southward to my bad hip.
When he reaches the knot strangling my sciatic nerve, I lose all decorum.
“Fuck,” I cry out.
My fingers grapple with the sheets, searching for something to hold, some way to escape the pain.
“Shh. I know it hurts, but you’re almost through it.”
Sweat evaporates on my feverish skin, summoning shivers that make my muscles spasm more. But he’s relentless, adding more pressure, diving deeper with the pads of his fingers. My pain climbs and climbs. I open my mouth to beg him to stop. Then the knot dissipates, and the relief is so immediate and all-encompassing, I melt into the bed and thank him in a broken babble.
“You did so well.” He bends over me and kisses my temple. “I’m sorry I had to hurt you.”
“It’s okay. I deserved it,” I slur.
“You didn’t deserve any of this, Cole.”
“Neither did you.”
He clicks his tongue, and takes off his shirt, then uses it to dry the sweat from my skin, starting with my forehead, soothing me with his scent.
I close my eyes. “Are you going to leave?” I don’t want to watch him go.
“Do you want me to?”
“No.”