Two weeks later
“Sweetie.”
A chill runs down my spine when I hear his singing voice calling me by the ridiculous pet name he has been using for years. I try very hard not to grimace when I turn around in my chair, putting aside my notes on all the late college work I have, to face him.
“What?” I ask, knowing for sure I won’t like whatever he’s going to say.
“Could you pass me another pillow, please?” Steve smiles openly and I want to slap the gesture out of his face. I f*****g knew it.
“Steve, you’re not a cripple,” I repeat for the fifteenth time. “You can get up and get it yourself.”
“If that’s how you complain about a scar, I don’t want to imagine the day when you break a bone,” Nate mocks, earning himself a murderous stare.
“How can you be sure that a broken bone will be my next
