Page 13 of Watcher
A caress moved down his spine. “Did you leave enough to take your meds?”
The groggy voice at his back sounded delicious. Warmth spread through him. “I don’t even know what I’m supposed to take.”
The bed shifted behind him. “Yeah. I imagine you’ve been pretty out of it. We can figure this out together.” Foster circled the bed. First, he checked the cup.
Atticus watched him refill the cup from the water dispenser of a full-sized refrigerator on the other side of the room. He looked around with a little more alertness. The room reminded him alittle of the rooms at the Bosi compound back home. It was just a bedroom, yet it felt more like an apartment. Every consideration was taken for convenience and luxury of each guest.
When Foster returned, Atticus’ eyes wouldn’t move from him. He wore nothing but boxer briefs that molded to his every perfection. Atticus really hated himself for ruining their night together. He had obviously missed out on a lot.
Foster set the water next to him and sat on the edge of the bed at his hip. He went through the bottles one by one, reading each. “Okay. You’ve been with me for eleven hours.”
“Holy shit. Really?”
Foster kept talking like Atticus hadn’t spoken. “These three are every eight, so you definitely need those.” He moved those to one side and picked up another. “This one is once a day. I’ll text Tracker about that one.” He moved on to the final one. “This one you dissolve on your tongue every four hours or as needed for nausea. Do you feel nauseous?”
Atticus took a moment to assess. His stomach made a horrible noise, answering before he did. “Yes.”
Foster pulled a sleeve of pills from the box and peeled back the paper on one. He shook it out. “Open up.”
Atticus did as told, and Foster stuck the pill on his tongue. He couldn’t keep himself from chuckling no matter how bad he felt. Foster was quite the nursemaid.
“Let me know when that’s dissolved.” Foster sounded so serious while getting his other pills ready to take.
Atticus watched him, wondering what went through his mind. A twinge in his chest made him wince. Foster went blurry.
Foster shot into action. He fluffed the pillow and got Atticus into a slightly more upright position. “Tell me what you need. Tracker only said to sit you up if you were in pain. Something about stomach acid burning damaged tissue. I don’t know. To be real, I was kind of overwhelmed at the time.”
Foster had been so right to walk away from him. Atticus saw him now. His intensity hid a fragile, kind heart and an entire person no one ever saw. Except for maybe Crisp, of course. “I’m good. It’s okay. Thank you.”
“None of this is okay!” Foster’s sudden explosion caught Atticus off guard.
Atticus didn’t shy away. He didn’t have the energy to argue, but there was no sense in getting angry on his behalf. Atticus had always been one misstep away from dying. “This is just my life. No concern at all. You have a beautiful smile.”
With an angry huff, Foster stood and paced away.
Atticus watched his enraged trek around the room before he returned to stand over Atticus.
“Do you know why I showed up every night? Why I couldn’t stay away no matter how dumb or insane I felt about stalking you?”
“I don’t know, but I’d hoped it was a sexual thing.”
Foster reclaimed his spot at Atticus’ hip. “Maybe it was at first, but I am the way I am not only because I was trained to observe, but because I also see things no one else does.” Since Foster seemed semi-calm now, Atticus didn’t interrupt. Plus, his throat hurt. Foster held his stare like no one else existed. “You are a puzzle I couldn’t resist. From the moment you took me down without even breaking a sweat, I had to know. I had to know everything. Every one of us are highly trained. Not just professional-level training. It was our existence on the line, and only the strong survived. I knew there could be only one reason you fought the way you do. You were a survivor too. I had to know.”
Foster kept saying that like Atticus didn’t get it the first time or he couldn’t say it enough. “You could’ve asked. Not that I’m complaining about having your attention, but I would’ve told you anything you wanted to know.”
“No. I’ve decided I don’t need to know after all.”
Damn. He really had turned Foster all the way off. “That’s probably for the best.” Atticus wished he could tell the difference between reality and what he decided was true. Again, he was in therapy. Sometimes he thought working on himself was a huge waste of time. Right now, he wished he had worked a little harder so he would know how to handle Foster.
Foster handed him his pills. “If you can stomach it, take these.”
It hurt, but Atticus swallowed the pills and drank the water Foster gave him like the adult he didn’t want to be.
Foster avoided his gaze for every second of the exchange.
Without knowing it would happen or what he would say, Atticus just started talking. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Foster’s profile as he did. “I’d gotten so used to you being in the shadows that I actually looked forward to going home every night.” Foster turned his head and met Atticus’ stare at the confession. Atticus didn’t stop even as a sad smile kept trying to appear. “At first, I thought it was the thrill of something different. Then it transformed into a feeling of safety. Obviously, I still had to be on guard all the time, but I knew I wasn’t alone. I knew you were there, and if push came to shove, you’d have my back.” The longer he spoke, the dumber he felt and the more tired he became. The exhaustion no longer felt only physical. “Never mind. Forget this conversation happened. I don’t know what I’m saying anymore, and I’d rather you have a life where you laugh.” He shut his eyes and relaxed. If he accidentally fell asleep again, he wanted to be in a semi-comfortable position. He didn’t want to end up with a sore neck on top of everything else. That would suck.
Foster watched Atticus pass out again as if he hadn’t been talking five seconds earlier. His eyes burned from not blinking. It didn’t matter what Atticus said. One thing Foster was an expert at was deciphering the truth from lies. Atticus meant every word he spoke. There was an actual human inside Atticus he couldn’t afford to set free. The thing was, though, Atticus was right. Foster did have his back. He had just needed to see exactly what Atticus had just shown him.
