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What the fuck were we going to do about this? I could care for him; that wasn’t an issue. I’d make sure he ate properly, took his meds on time, and most importantly, healed. God knows he’d been through enough in his twenty years. Fuck, I’d had an easy life compared to him despite Mom dying. But he’d suffered loss, too. His dad had upped and left him when he was a similar age to me. Shit like that often shaped the person you became.

You either lived with it or let it eat you alive. I’d made my peace with it. Had Frankie?

“Frankie,” I shook him gently. “We’re home.”

He stirred but didn’t wake. I did it again.

“Leave me alone. Wanna sleep,” he mumbled.

“I know, but not here in the car. Come on.” I went around to his side of the car and opened the door, steadying him in case he fell. “Let’s get you up to bed.”

“Only want me for my body.”

I snorted. Was he even awake? His eyes were still shut tight.

Eventually, he woke up enough for me to lead him into the house and onto the sofa in the conservatory. I laid him down and covered him with a blanket before heading upstairs to change the bed in the spare room.

I gazed at the cuts and bruises on his face as he slept, and tempted as I was to give Brian what he deserved, it was up to me to persuade Frankie to report him.

I knew he was reluctant to do that, for his mum’s and Logan’s sake, but surely, they were better off without a piece of shit like him.

The more I watched him, the more incensed I became. Who could do such a thing? It was a question I’d asked myself over and over. His face twisted in pain even in his sleep, but all I could do was watch.

As a doctor, I wished I could do more to take away his pain. As his boyfriend, I wished I could hold him and show him how much he was loved.

Love. A word bandied about by some with no real meaning, but I was certain that, given time, I could love him, if he’d let me.

I sat on the end of the sofa and placed his feet in my lap. Blood seeped through the bandages; the soles of his feet torn to ribbons by glass and stones. He’d left the house wearing nothing but boxers and a jacket he’d grabbed on the way out.

Why hadn’t his mother done anything? Why hadn’t she stopped what was so obvious? Except it wasn’t. He hid his bruises well, or maybe Brian had chosen where to inflict the wounds, knowing that a T-shirt or a hoodie would hide them from view.

How I fucking hated him and hoped Frankie would do the right thing.

He must have been exhausted. I know I was, and all I’d done was support him through it all. He was the one who’d endured the beating.

At least the painkillers would dull the pain, and hopefully, he could get some rest. He’d heal while he slept.

My head dropped to my chest, and I woke with a jolt. I didn’t want to sleep. I wanted to stay awake in case he needed me, but my brain had other ideas.

“Mac? Wake up.”

“What? What’s going on?” I sat up, startled. Where was I? Why was Frankie here? My shoulders slumped as the events of that morning came flooding back.

“I’m sorry to wake you up, but do you have any painkillers? I’m in agony here.”

He looked terrible; the bruises had darkened on his face, and the cuts seemed redder and angrier than before. Anger surged through me again, but I tamped it down. Now wasn’t the time for retribution. It was time to care for Frankie and to make sure he was healing.

“God, yes. Here, let me get them for you, and some food.” I moved his feet and stood on shaky legs, the earlier adrenaline having dissipated.

I was handed a bag of medication as we left the hospital, but even if I hadn’t, I had plenty here to help ease the pain.

“Thanks.” He followed me to the kitchen with difficulty and leant against the counter, tight lines around his eyes.

“You need to eat too. I bet you’ve had nothing since last night.” I popped the medication out of the packet and handed it to him.

He shook his head. “I’m not hungry. I think if I eat, I’ll throw up.”

“You should eat if you’re taking those. I’ll make us a sandwich.” It was after three, and my stomach was growling.