Derek’s smile was warm and gentle, his touch firm as he pressed on the wounds. His murmured words grounded Blake and made him feel safe and cared for.
Blake sucked in a huge breath and sobbed harder than he had in years. 13
Blake was not recovering like he should—not like he had been the past several weeks. After Derek got the bleeding stopped and Blake could move again, Derek helped him to the bed. But Blake couldn’t stop crying—huge body-shaking sobs, breath hitching, lungs wheezing with the effort to draw in air. His face was red and swollen, and tears still coursed down his cheeks. Derek’s usual methods of soothing hadn’t worked. The pain meds hadn’t worked. Blake just lay there and cried.
Derek tried massage, rubbing hard at the pressure points that should relax Blake. He tried stroking his hair, telling him that he was fine, he was safe, it was all okay. And still Blake cried, wouldn’t look at him, curled in on himself, and sobbed.