Page 82 of Enzo
“You heard what he said.”
“Doc’s an asshole,” I said. “He’s got his own shit. He lashes out and makes it about everyone else. You didn’t deserve that.”
Silence again.
“I think you’re the strongest person I’ve ever met,” I continued. “You keep showing up. You keep trying. Even when you’re hurting. That’s strength, Robbie. That’s not broken. That’s… fucking beautiful.”
A long pause. Then the lock clicked.
I held still.
The door creaked open a few inches. Robbie’s face appeared, pale and drawn. His eyes were rimmed red. He didn’t look at me right away.
“I’m not good company,” he murmured.
“You don’t have to be.” I offered a small smile. “Just come eat.”
He hesitated. Then opened the door and stepped out. He wore familiar soft flannel pajamas, sleeves tugged down over his hands like armor, and those hospital slippers on his feet. He pulled a sweatshirt over his head—my sweatshirt—and followed me to the kitchen.
We sat together at the kitchen table. He barely touched the food. But he was there.
After a long silence, he said, “I’m sorry. About taking Doc in my room, talking about us. About… everything.”
“You don’t owe me an apology.”
“I feel…” His brow furrowed. “Disgusting. Like I should be ashamed of what I want. I know he’s wrong. No, Ithinkhe’s wrong.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what to think. I was asking his advice, so that I could be the kind of person that someone like you might want to…” He groaned and buried his face in his hands. “I didn’t tell him it was you, he just guessed, I wasn’t…” He groaned again, and I reached out, placing my palm face-up on the table. I didn’t push. Just waited.
Slowly, he slid his hand into mine.
“I meant what I said,” I told him. “You’re not fragile. Not to me.”
“But I am,” he whispered.
“You’ve been hurt. That’s not the same thing.”
His eyes were wide and wet.
Hope flickered in Robbie’s voice, small and scared. “You don’t see me as shattered? As breakable?”
His question hit me like a gut punch.
I felt everything inside me tighten. God, if he only knew. If he only felt what I did every time he flinched, or shut down, or looked at me as though I might vanish if he touched me. The last few days had been impossible, not knowing what to do.
I shook my head, the truth caught in my throat at first, and then spilling out. “If I did, then I’d be able to stay away. Then maybe I could just protect you, watch out for you from a distance, and not want you with every fucking molecule in my body. Maybe it wouldn’t tear me apart to see you hurting, wouldn’t make me want to drag you into my arms and kiss you until you forgot how to be afraid. But I do, Robbie. I do, and it scares the hell out of me.”
He stared at me, stunned, as if he didn’t know what to do with my words.
And then—he didn’t run. He didn’t hide. He stood there, that quiet fire in his eyes, and whispered, “Then kiss me again.”
My breath caught.
God.
My hands trembled as I reached for him, cupping his jaw, brushing my fingers along the curve of his cheek. He was beautiful—so goddamn beautiful and open and trembling—and I didn’t deserve him.
But I leaned in anyway, heart pounding.
The first brush of our lips was so damn soft, then he surged closer, his arms wrapping around my neck, pulling me in. The kiss deepened, heat sparking, and his desperate, breathless whimpers shattered something in me.
