LOGINXander's POVI glance at Max.He's watching me with that guarded expression he's been wearing ever since I started helping him. His shoulders are slightly hunched, and one hand rests protectively across his abdomen while the other grips the armrest.He's trying so fucking hard not to look helpless, and I know him well enough to understand just how much he hates this.I force my attention back to the dressings.Whatever else is going on, I've got a job to do. I need to get him cleaned up, make sure I haven't disturbed any of those stitches and get him safely back to the others.Everything else can fucking wait.“Right, well, I think it's best to leave the bandages alone as much as possible,” I tell him, carefully moving my hand away from the lifted edge. “We can let the nurses handle those.”Max follows my gaze towards his stomach, studying the bloodstained dressings for a moment before giving a small nod.He doesn't argue, which is a pleasant fucking surprise. Then again, judging by h
Xander's POVI try to keep my hands from shaking as I examine the lifted edge of the bandage covering Max's stomach.Fuck, it's huge.The dressing itself is bad enough, but the glimpses of damaged skin beneath it are making my stomach turn. There's bruising spreading out from the wound in a horrible mixture of green, yellow and almost black, disappearing beneath the other dressings wrapped around his side.Goddess, I don't know what's wrong with me. I was fucking there, for Goddess's sake.I saw the state Medus was in before he collapsed. I helped carry Max into the hospital, and then I stood there with Zahra while the doctor tried to stitch him back together. I saw the blood, the injuries and the sheer amount of damage those fucking rogues had managed to inflict. I knew how serious it was.And I'm sure being thrown around in the back of the SUV hasn't helped his recovery either.But somehow, seeing him here, like this, makes everything look so much worse than it did before.Perhaps i
Max's POVThe question sits there for one horrible second before shame washes over me.Goddess, what the fuck is wrong with me?This is Xander.The man who's spent the last several minutes helping me get to the toilet, manoeuvring me into a shower and painstakingly loosening bloodstained fabric from my wounds because he doesn't want to hurt me.Whatever he thinks of me now, whatever anger he has every right to feel, I know what sort of man he is.He wouldn't wish me dead.But guilt has a nasty habit of finding the weakest places in your head and digging its claws in.And apparently, mine has found a particularly fucking ugly one.“Xander…”His name escapes before I've worked out what I intend to say.That I'm sorry he's had to see me like this?That I didn't mean to frighten him?That I'm sorry I left?They all sound bloody inadequate.I watch his face, searching for something familiar, some indication of what he needs from me right now.There was a time when I would have known withou
Max's POVWhen he finally speaks again, his voice is considerably quieter.“I knew it was bad, but seeing it like this?”The unfinished question hangs between us.I watch him swallow, his throat working as he looks back at my injuries.And something unpleasant twists inside my chest.He's not asking about the wounds any more, not really.He's trying to make sense of how close I came to dying.I can see it in the way he keeps looking from the bandages to my face, as though he's trying to reconcile the man sitting in front of him with whatever he'd been told about my condition.And I have no fucking idea how to reassure him when I can barely make sense of it myself.His voice had almost disappeared towards the end, and I grimace because I can hear how upset he is beneath his words.The worst part is that I know him well enough to recognise what he's trying to hide.Xander doesn't frighten easily.He gets angry. He gets frustrated. Occasionally, he gets so fucking stubborn that I want to
POV“There,” Xander says quietly, interrupting my thoughts. “Think I've got it.”He sounds relieved, although his eyes remain fixed on the dressing as he carefully checks that the fabric has come free. Only when he's satisfied does he look back at me.He eases the scrub top upwards again, and I lift my arms as far as I can manage. The movement pulls unpleasantly through my shoulders and stomach, but with his help, we eventually get the damned thing over my head.By the time it's off, I'm breathing harder than I should be, and my arms feel strangely heavy. I lower them carefully, grateful that I don't have to keep them raised a second longer.He drops it onto the floor outside the shower and turns back towards me.Then he goes very still.I watch the change in his expression, the way his eyes widen slightly before narrowing as he takes in my chest and abdomen.“Goddess, Max.”His voice is barely above a whisper.He takes a breath, but it seems to catch somewhere in his throat. One hand
Max's POVWhat the fuck does Medus expect me to think about?Actually, on second thoughts, I probably know the answer to that.Zahra.And he's right. She should be at the forefront of my thoughts, especially after what I overheard earlier.That doesn't make the memories disappear, though.Fuck, how did we get here?Xander's hand remains perfectly still, waiting for an answer, and I realise I've been staring at him for far too long. There's something guarded in his expression now, almost as though he's worried he's overstepped.That hurts in a way I wasn't expecting.There was a time when neither of us had to think twice about touching the other.Now he can't even help me out of a bloodstained hospital top without having to ask whether I'm comfortable with it.“Yeah,” I say, my voice coming out quieter than I intended. “It's fine.”He holds my gaze for another second, and I wonder whether he can see how awkward this is for me.Probably.He's always been far too fucking good at reading







