I slam my hand between the doors, and they come to a halt, jarring back open. “Daire?”

He doesn’t respond.

I look at the blonde. And then the wheelchair again. Daire hasn’t moved. Where is his cane? I can’t find his cane? He always has his cane. So what is that chair doing here?

“Who are you?” I ask the blonde.

“Stephanie,” she answers. “I’m Mr. Daire’s nurse.”

Nurse?

My mind is reeling, and I can’t keep up with it. I need answers, and I need them now. I turn to Daire. “Get up.”

He stares back at me. Blank. Motionless.

My heart beats faster in my chest as I remember the conversation with Graziela. Her anger and accusations. She said they almost lost him. And I can’t believe I didn’t ask her what she meant.

“What happened?” I choke out. “What’s… where’s your cane?”

“A bad decision on my part,” Daire replies. “The usual.”

He’s trying to make light of this, and I can’t have that. I need to understand what’s going on. I turn to Stephanie.

“What’s wrong with him?”

She blinks and looks to Daire. “Stephanie,” he says. “I think you better go.”

“But they sent me—”

“You’ll get paid,” he assures her. “But your job here is done. Time to leave now.”

She looks crestfallen, but she doesn’t argue as she slips into the elevator and the building swallows her up. It’s just the two of us now, and Daire’s apartment is too quiet. I can’t find any signs of life, and I swear he hasn’t moved even an inch since I’ve been here.

“What happened?” I repeat.

“Come and sit with me,” he says.

My legs are numb, but I honor his request. I sit down on the sofa, but the silence lingers.

“Feel like some Chinese food?” he asks. “There’s a place down the street that delivers. The curry is out of this world.”

“Daire.”

He sighs. And this is what he always reverts to. Fending off any sort of human connection with sarcasm. He wants everybody to believe he’s heartless and cruel and flippant by nature, but when he doesn’t speak, his actions say otherwise.

I think that’s part of the reason I’ve always felt a connection to him. He wears a crown of barbed wire to keep others at bay. He’s prickly and mean and emotionally disengaged. But within the jerk, there lies a heart of gold. He would do anything for me if I asked him. He would probably go to ridiculous lengths to conceal the fact that he did it, but he would do it. And not just for me either. I know the same is true for Julian and the other people in his life that he tries to hide his affections for.

Adrian is a good man. He would just be horrified if anyone actually thought so.

“Daire, I—”

The elevator chimes again, and out pops Graziela. She’s wearing red, and not just in her dress. She could almost be mistaken for a raging bull as she comes storming into the living room before stopping short. Her gaze swings to me, and her lips twist. “You.”

Daire looks between us, his brow furrowed. “You two have met?”

“Yes,” I answer. “When she came into my shop and demanded that I stay away from you. But she conveniently forgot to mention the reason why.”

He groans. Graziela glares at me.

“Why?” she gestures in his direction. “Can you not see why? You did this to him!”

“Grazi,” Daire barks. “Lola had nothing to do with this.”

“Yes, she did. If she had not left you there alone that night like a dog in the street, this never would have happened.” Tears fill her eyes and the horrifying realization of what she’s implicating washes over me.

“You got hurt that night?”

“I got drunk and walked into the middle of the street,” Daire explains. “It was nobody’s fault but my own.”

Grazi starts to yell at him in Portuguese, and Daire throws his head back against the sofa cushion.

“What are you doing here, Grazi?”

“The nurse told me you sent her away.”

“Snitch,” Daire mutters.

They start to argue again when I cut in. “Will somebody please tell me what the hell is going on? Are you okay?” He refuses to look at me now, and Grazi is the one to answer.

“His legs were crushed. He had three broken ribs and a head injury. So, no, he is not okay. They don’t know if he’ll walk on his own again.”

“It was a concussion,” Daire clarifies. But that doesn’t make it sound any less awful.

I look at his legs. They are covered in baggy sweatpants, hiding whatever damage has been done. He’s disheveled. Unshaven. His hair uncombed. And I’ve never seen him like this. I should have recognized it earlier. I should have known something was wrong. And Grazi is right. This is my fault.

Hot tears spill over my cheeks, and I can’t stop them. I place my head in my hands and quietly sob while the room goes quiet.

“Lola,” Daire pleads. “Don’t do this. Don’t put this on yourself. It was my decision. Grazi had no right to say those things to you.”

“If you love someone,” Grazi argues, “then you have to love them at their worst too. You have to look after them even when you hate them. That’s what love is.”

I cry harder, and Daire asks her to go make him a sandwich. She goes, and Daire’s hand grazes my back. “Come here.”

It’s like not a day has passed when I fall into line and obey his simple command. I slide closer to him, and he pulls me against his chest and lets me cry. I hate everything about this. I’m sick. My stomach wants to empty its contents all over Daire’s pristine floors, and my nerves are shot. For so many years I have blamed him for being a monster when really it was me.

“Is this how you felt?” I ask. “When I hated you for so long? I hated you, and you didn’t even deserve it.” He doesn’t answer. So I cry some more.

“You’re going to hate me too now,” I sniffle. “For the rest of your life. Because I—”

“Lola.” His voice is like a whip. “Shut up.” The ferocity of his tone shocks me out of my pity party. I turn to look at him, and his eyes are hard. “I’m taking responsibility for my actions, and that’s the end of it. I don’t want to hear another self-deprecating word out of your mouth. Do you understand?”

I nod. Daire is back in control. It’s where he belongs and where we are both most comfortable. I let him take the wheel, but he doesn’t get to steer the conversation.

“Is what Grazi said true?”

He nods reluctantly, eyes broken, but determined.

“They wanted to take my leg, but I’ve been getting around for the last twelve years alright. What’s another forty?”

“Will you… I mean can you… are you paralyzed?”

He gestures to the tent currently holding up his pants. “If I were, would I be able to do this?”

I laugh, but only because I’m so relieved. “I guess not.”

“It’s a long road ahead,” he says, and this time he’s serious. “Physical therapy. Even then, nothing’s a guarantee. I’ll be in pain. All the time. I’ll be a moody son of a bitch.”

“So nothing new,” I offer.

“Nothing new,” Daire agrees.

My tears have stopped, but I don’t move. He’s still the Daire that I know, and I needed to see that. I needed to know that his spirit isn’t broken. He’s warm and comfortable, and he smells good, even in his currently disheveled and unwashed state.

“If I could, Lola, I’d make you a million pretty promises.”

I swallow as I meet his eyes. He’s not joking anymore. And I don’t know where we stand. I don’t know anything.

“I don’t need promises,” I tell him. “I just need you to try. Every day, I need you to get up and keep fighting.”

He focuses on my face, drinking in every detail. It’s the most vulnerable he’s ever been. And his go-to method of dealing with that is usually to push me away. But this time, I won’t let him.

“I can’t ask you to stay,” he says. “Not like this.” “You can’t ask me to leave. Because I won’t.”

“It would only be out of guilt,” he surmises.

“Maybe,” I answer. “Or maybe not. Maybe, Adrian, and I know you might find this difficult to believe… but maybe I actually care about you, and I want what’s best for you.”

“Hmm,” he hums. “Does this mean I get to fuck you again?”

I slap him in the arm and roll my eyes. “No. Friends first.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he pouts.

“Friends first,” I insist. “The rest… well, that’s a mess for another time.”