Page 32 of If Cain Were Able

When I pull into the garage, I leave it open so Patrick can just come in this way. Opening the car door, the interior light comes on, and I can’t help but notice how tired he looks even from here.

He exits the car carrying a paper bag and a cup that I’m certain holds the Frosty I’m no longer in the mood for.

He stops, his eyes meeting mine, at the threshold of my house.

“Don’t make me regret this,” he pleads.

“I make no promises,” I tell him seriously, knowing my mind has already taken a dangerous turn just from being in his proximity again.

“You look like hell,” he replies, moving past me into my house.

For maybe the first time ever, I can’t get a bead on him, and I hate it.

“Yeah, well, twelve hours in the operating room will do that to a person.”

At this, he turns, a look of shock on his face.

“Twelve?”

“Yeah,” I sigh, suddenly too tired to play games.

“Isn’t there a law against that or something?” he asks, making me huff a humorless laugh.

“No one to tag in when a patient is bleeding out on the table. Just me.”

If I’m not mistaken, Patrick’s eyes soften a little. I’ve always appreciated his light eyes. It makes him easier to read.

“Did they…” he trails off, realizing how crass his question is, but I finish the statement for him. It’s uncomfortable, but it’s the facts of my life.

“Die? Yes. Three times. But when I left the hospital, he was still alive.” Patrick nods slowly, but says nothing. “What are you doing here?” I finally ask again, leaning back against the counter, crossing my ankles, and folding my arms across my chest so I don’t reach for him.

“I work for the company hired to help make your hospital’s administration transition smoother.”

I bark out in laughter. “So, you are here to fuck me.”

He grabs the burger from the bag and shoves it at me as he moves to stand directly in front of me.

“If my memory serves me correctly, it was always you who did the fucking, Cain. Here. Eat. You’re pale, and you’ve had a long day.”

He presses the burger into my stomach, and I catch his wrist, trapping him against me.

“I’m not in the mood for a burger, but I could be persuaded to eat something else.”

Patrick’s eyes close as his jaw clenches.

“Don’t. I can’t do this with you again. I won’t do this with you again.”

“I can’t help myself,” I admit, the word please on the tip of my tongue, but it gets stuck at the last minute. I’ve never begged anyone for anything.

Instead, I set the burger on the counter at my back, and slowly wrap my hands around Patrick, pulling him into me as he rolls his face into my neck. I smile when I hear him inhale. His hands are tentative when they grip my sides.

I can feel him waging war with himself.

He doesn’t want to fall back into this pattern with me, but just like me, he can’t stop it.

We never could.

As soon as my hand breaches his shirt and hits the flesh of his back, I fully commit to this disaster.