"It's okay if you don't want to tell me," I assure him.

"It's not that." He sighs. "It's just that... It's something I had from before the accident."

I frown. "What do you mean?"

"It's not...physical. It's psychological. The pills help me function more or less normally."

"Nikki..." I take a tentative step toward him. "I would never judge you for anything. I hope you know that."

He gives me a tight nod.

"You remember the panic attacks I used to get?"

"Yes."

"After my accident, I was formally diagnosed for the first time." He smiles ruefully. "PTSD, severe anxiety and agoraphobia, among others. The pills work to lessen the anxiety and agoraphobia—in as much as they helped me get out of my house and come here."

"And you're here..."

"I'm here." He nods.

I can't imagine the kind of strength it must have taken him to come, especially since I remember the panic attacks he'd get—I used to help him deal with them in the tunnels.

"Is it because of your childhood?" I ask in a hesitant voice.

He strains a smile. "My childhood and my entire life." He shrugs. "But I'm getting help, Luce. It's not just the pills. I started seeing a proper therapist, and I'm taking everything seriously. I'd never subject you to someone unstable—someone who can barely function by himself. I promise you that I'm getting better," he hurries to say.

"Oh, Nikki. Don't you dare go there! Don't you dare think I'd ever see you as less because of that. How can you even think that?"

"Because I don't want to save you from a prison only to lock you up in another," he says on a ragged breath.

"You won't." I shake my head. "Just the fact that you're here, with me, despite all your impediments, means the world to me. You mean the world to me, Nikki. You always have."

"Sweetheart," he rasps, coming closer to me. His hand curves over my jaw, his thumb caressing my lips. His hand moves lower down my throat, stopping atop my breasts, just under my clavicle. "Does your shoulder hurt?"

"A little," I whisper. A little more. But I don't want him to needlessly worry about me—not when there's so much left to be done.

"Just a little?" He raises a brow at me. "Don't think I didn't notice you wince in the car."

"Okay, maybe a little more. But I'm fine. I'll be fine."

"So brave," he murmurs, and his hand trails lower, reaching the valley of my breasts. Instinctively, I grab his hand, stopping him.

"I—" I swallow hard, my eyes meeting his.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Luce."

"I know that. It's just that..."