She shakes her head but blows out a resigned sigh as she shuffles inside the living room. “This is a bad idea.”
Yep. She said that, too.
Thrice.
I take her hand and lead her past the black sectional sofa toward the kitchen. When Jamie texted that she was bringing the Tribe over to clean the place and get it ready for Faith, she wasn’t exaggerating. The carpet is vacuumed and the furniture polished. A few outlets even have those cute air freshener thingies plugged into them to make the house smell like a fresh spring day in the middle of summer.
When I first bought this house, Jamie decorated it for me because what the hell do I know about that sort of shit. She promised not to make it girlie and did it up in what she called “modern minimalist.” Whatever the fuck that means. But I do like what she did. The finished product is a color palette of grays, blacks, and whites, with none of those bullshit knickknacks like my mom kept, because even though I have someone come in to clean for me, I don’t like the idea of anyone lingering too long in my personal space. And yet here I am, seriously enjoying the view of Faith in my house.
Because this is where she belongs.
All up in my space.
Of course, I hate that she got here under these circumstances…
“Why is this a bad idea?” I ask, only because I figure she’ll give me a doozie of an answer since she’s still stoned off her ass from the pain meds.
She stops, turns, and tilts her head. Her gaze cuts right through my bullshit. Her eyes are dark pools of exhaustion. Her lips are cut and swollen, and her left cheek is bruised. I can only imagine what the rest of her must look like beneath her clothes. “Because I know you, Jester. You’re going to expect more from this arrangement than what it actually is.”
Okay, scratch that. Even stoned, Faith is still sharp as a blade.
“And what, exactly, is this arrangement?”
As if I’m not looking ten steps ahead.
“I’m here for my protection.” Her words are slurred and her eyes hooded. If I don’t get her to the bed, she’s going to fall on her ass. “This doesn’t mean we’re back together.”
I can’t resist kissing the top of the tangled mess of hair. “Hell no, we’re not.”
Not yet, anyway. The devil is in the details, and I keep that one to myself.
“You stink like a brewery.” She shoves me away and takes a step back. “I need a shower. I’m so goddamned tired. What time is it?”
I pull my cell phone from my back pocket. “Six.” I nod at the staircase. “And you’re in luck because I have a shower upstairs.”
“It’s morning already?” She scrubs a hand over her face. “I feel like nine miles of bad road.” Her voice cracks, like she’s about to cry. “I don’t even have clean clothes or my insulin.”
“I don’t think you understand.” I take her hand and continue to walk her toward the kitchen. When I open the refrigerator, stocked with fresh, healthy food (again, thanks to Jamie), I point to the top shelf. “You’re not a guest here. Consider this your home. Everything you need is here.”
Faith blinks at the stockpile of insulin for a full thirty seconds before she pulls her hand from mine and inspects both types of medication. They’re new, still in their unopened packages. She replaces them on the shelf and turns to me, clearly astonished. “This is a three-month supply of Humalog. Same with the Basaglar. Where did you get them?”
I shut the refrigerator door. “Seriously, Fizzle? Please tell me that’s not an actual question.”
She flattens her palm on my chest, and the simple touch is fire through my shirt. Her sad attempt at a sleepy, crooked grin is adorable. “That was a dumb one, huh? Of course, you can get anything you want.” Then one eyebrow quirks up. There’s the sass I love so much. “Almost anything, anyway.”
Smug wench.
I cup her chin and kiss the tip of her nose. “Nah, you got it right the first time.”
She slaps my hand away. “I appreciate this, I truly do, but one of us needs to go to my house because I need my clothes. And my backpack.Especiallymy backpack. It has my emergency supplies—”
“You mean that backpack?” I spin her around and point to where her black leather backpack is sitting on the kitchen counter.
“Oh my God, Jester, thank you.” Her cry of relief hits me right in the soul. When she throws her arms around my waist and gives me a weak hug, I can’t even friggin’ breathe because it’s the first time she’s voluntarily showed me affection other than when she held my hand in the hospital. “How did you know?”
I bury my face in Faith’s hair and close my eyes. I’ve always been a sucker for her hair. The world drops away, leaving just her and me. Sappy, but fuck it. I’m not Havoc or Malice. I’m not made of stone. Nor do I have ice running through my veins. I have a beating heart, and true, I can slit someone’s throat like it’s nothing, but the people I kill deserve it. We live in brutal times, and there wasn’t an innocent man among those I’ve murdered.
When she pulls away, I’ll be damned if I don’t want to drag her right back and keep her there for the rest of our lives.
