that made Grey ache inside. It was the idea that Cort wouldn’t show up tomorrow.
Sighing heavily, Grey slid his hand across the door, moving it toward the doorknob. It took a couple of swipes, but his fingers finally stumbled across the deadbolt. He twisted it and carefully stepped backward.
He struggled to keep his breathing normal as he listened to the door open and then the soft click of the light being turned on, even though his darkness never changed. Beyond that, the silence stretched uncomfortably. Cort’s breathing had hitched a little, likely when he spotted the mess he’d made in the living room, but he still didn’t speak, didn’t berate Grey.
Finally, Cort touched him. His hand gently wrapped around Grey’s and he relaxed just a bit. Cort squeezed and Grey sucked in a ragged breath against the swirling emotions trying to break free.
“It’s good to see you, Grey,” Cort said. Grey could only manage a jerky nod as a lump formed in his throat. “How about you sit at the table for a few minutes?” Cort never released his hand, but Grey could hear him moving around, setting the chair up on all four legs. Cort guided Grey into the chair. “That looks like a new bandage on your knee, and you’ve got a couple of scrapes on your palm. Would you mind if I check them out?”
Grey shook his head. He didn’t feel capable of words. Didn’t want to start talking yet because he was afraid of what was going to come out of his mouth. Cort squeezed his hand again. Releasing it, he moved away. But instead of heading to the bathroom for the first aid supplies, he crossed the kitchen. Cabinet doors opened and closed. Then the refrigerator door opening and closing.
That strong, steady hand returned, cupping the outside of Grey’s before pressing a cold glass into his palm. It was a little difference that he’d noticed with Cort. When his friends handed him something, they either shoved it straight into his palm and waited for him to grip, or they grabbed his wrist and placed it into his palm. But with Cort, it was like he was taking a moment to hold his hand prior to gently giving him something. It felt more personal. Warmer. Special. But that was silly. Cort had worked with countless people. Grey wasn’t special.
“Glass of water for you. I want you to sip it while I grab the first aid kit,” Cort said softly.
When Cort released his hand, Grey quickly grabbed him with his empty hand. He’d come up with Cort’s arm, but it was enough to stop him. He squeezed and managed to get out, “Thank you.”
The man was silent for a second, just a sharp inhale, and then nothing. The scent of him grew stronger for a second—soft and fresh with a hint of mint—as if he’d leaned in a little closer. The scent faded almost as quickly as it appeared.
“I hope you learn today that when it comes to your well-being, I will always out-stubborn you, Grey Ackles.”
“I’m glad someone can,” Grey murmured.
Cort chuckled and moved away, his footsteps carrying him across the living room and fading into the bathroom.
Grey closed his sore, dry eyes and listened to the sounds of Cort moving in his apartment. He shifted things in the bathroom before crossing the living room again, glass and other broken things crunching under his feet.
“Where’s your broom and dustpan?” Cort was in the kitchen, his voice sounding as if he were standing right beside Grey. Fabric scraped as Cort’s hand left the bag holding the first aid kit on the table.
“The space between the wall and the fridge.” He listened to Cort stepping across the room followed by the bang of the broom and dustpan hitting the wall as Cort pulled it from its niche. He frowned as his brain clearly conjured up images for all these sounds around him.
“What are you thinking?”
“That I can’t picture you, and it’s driving me crazy. When I’m around the others, I can easily imagine what they look like when they cross the room or get a glass of water. When Baer’s talking, I can imagine his grin. Or I can see Dane’s worried frown. But you…”
“I’m a blank,” Cort filled in. He was in the kitchen, bringing with him his wonderful scent and warmth. A chair slid across the tile floor and fabric rustled as he sat.
“Yeah, and I’m spending more of my day with you than my friends.