“I’m pretty sure that’syou, Ledger.” She grimaces as she adjusts her head against the pillow, then lets go of a soft sighbefore looking at me. “You’re the reason the crew exists to begin with. You’re the source that binds us all together, both physically and mentally. I seriously can’t imagine my life without you, and I’m confident that the others feel the same.”
“You really know how to make a man feel special,” I quip, even though I’m both flustered and terrified after hearing what she just said. I know I’m not alone, and I’m grateful to my family for always sticking by me. But also, knowing that they’ve so selflessly put their emotionsandtheir lives on the pedestal for me – time and again, that is – makes me feel…I don’t know, intensely aware of the responsibility I carry. The crew’s safety has always been my number one priority, but now more than ever, I’ve gotta keep my head in the game and avoid any and every fuckups that might come my way. I don’t exactly have the luxury of making mistakes anymore.
“Hey.”
I blink and look at Cigs, who is smiling at me.
“Hey,” I say, moving my hand from her wrist to her palm, twining my fingers with hers.
“To whatever end, remember?” she reminds me.
I chuckle, not even surprised that she’s read the apprehension on my face.Again. “To whatever end, I promise.”
Her smile broadens. “Good, now get in bed and hold me while I sleep. I need your aggressively loud inner thoughts barging into my brain so that I can finally get some proper rest.”
I shake my head as I laugh, then get to my feet before taking off my shoes. “Fuckingmenace, that’s what you are.”
Instead of saying anything, she smiles again and turns to her left, then wiggles her ass at me, which only makes me laugh harder.
Menace. A complete anduttermenace, this woman.
37.
A month later
Igroan as I blink open my eyes, annoyed at the relentless morning light streaming in through the bedroom’s glass panels. The dull yet consistent hum of the AC is a relief, but the throbbing ache in my neck? Yeah, that bitch sucks.
I let go of a breath before rising in bed, then shift to place my feet on the floorboards. Dr. Broome told me that while not permanent, my neck issue – which is an after-effect of my injuries – would be troublesome to deal with until it finally faded over time. Either way, it is, like I said before, a bitch to live with.
I exhale slowly and begin stretching my neck sideways. The left side first, and then the right. As I repeat the process, I feel a pulsing ache in my muscles as they are pulled in the opposite direction. I try not to focus on it, and instead tip my head forward, making sure to touch my chin to my sternum. Another wave of pain follows, but I simply release air through my lips and ignore it, this time tipping my head back to put pressure on the cervical area.
This is just a small exercise routine I’ve come up with for when waking up in my own bed after getting home from the hospital became difficult. Doing these simple stretches helps relieve my muscles so I don’t have to feel like a fucking robot trying to move my head around while talking to people. The painkillers help, of course, but these stretches are my way of comforting the pain, and most of all, mymind.
I’m about to perform the entire routine a second time, but stop when I hear a heavy thumping of fists pounding against leather and sand, which immediately makes me grin. Said thumping is coming from the living room, so I decide to pause my exercise. Rising from the bed, I turn off the air conditioner, freshen up in the bathroom, then head downstairs.
Dorran has an impressive boxing setup on the entirety of the left side of our living room space, which he installed all by himself when we first moved in. His practice area is marked by a warm-toned overhead LED light, a dark grey floor mat, and a long mirror adjacent to his punching bag for when he needs to check on his form and technique. There’s a small rack next to the mirror in which he stores his spare hand wraps, a couple of jump ropes and resistance bands, and even a pair of boxing gloves.
Feral, by Bad Omens is playing softly through the speakers installed above the mirror as I descend the last stair and start walking over to the man in question.
Dorran has his back turned to me as he fires punch after punch to the large, crimson bag in front of him. His bare back is slick with sweat, and as he rears an arm to throw yet another punch, his taut muscles flex beautifully against his lush skin, making me swallow.
“Once you’re done ogling, Little Swan, could you be so kind as to grab me a bottle of water?”
My look of awe instantly turns into a scowl. “You literally have your back to me.”
He puts his right foot forward and punches the relentless bag again. “Of course I do. But has thateverstopped me from sensing your nearness?”
I can’t help but smile. He’s a cheeky fucking bastard.
“Well, if you want water, then get it yourself. I’d ratherogleyou from various possible angles, now that you’ve caught me.”
His shoulders shake as he chuckles, right before stopping the bag’s momentum with his hands and turning to face me. “Will it aid my case if I sayplease?”
“Oh, fuckoff, Ledger,” I quip with a roll of my eyes, and when the asshole grins at me, I scoff and head towards the kitchen to grab him some water from the refrigerator.
The silver-cappedVossbottle is ice-cold against my fingers as I start walking back to Dorran, only to find him studying me with an eased expression on his face.
“So much for tauntingmefor ogling you,” I jab, then stop half a foot shy from him. This close, I can perfectly see the small droplets of sweat clinging to the ends of his damp hair, the crisp blue hue of his eyes, and the accented shadows just below his sharp cheekbones. The smell of his pine and leather deodorant, paired with the mint on his breath are outrageously distracting, and if I wasn’t already, then I sure as hell am dizzy now.
