Creed is just as affected as I am, though, because I catch him adjusting himself while watching Riley in the rearview mirror, shamelessly letting the heat burn through his gaze. His eyes crinkle with a wild grin as he pops a french fry into his mouth. Itshouldn’t be as hot as it is to watch his jaw work and flex as he chews, but it is. Damn him.
“It’s a good thing today is a rest day for you two,” Creed says around a massive bite of food.
“Why’s that?” Riley and I ask at the same time before he handfeeds me a french fry dipped in ranch.
“Because I’m getting you two in my bed, and that’s exactly where we’re gonna stay, all damned day.”
Riley chokes on his milkshake, and my face flames up with the heat of a thousand suns. I know he doesn’t mean it the way it sounds, but he absolutely worded it that way on purpose. Either way, I love the plan.
Chapter 23
Riley
“IT WON’T ALWAYS FEEL LIKE THIS.”
Sitting in the lounge chair on the balcony of Creed’s room, I’ve been journaling for the better part of two hours now. It’s the same candy-themed journal where I’d torn the pages that made up the letters I wrote to both Collins and Creed. There was still plenty of empty space, so I decided that maybe my therapist was onto something when he told me to write my thoughts and feelings down. He’d even encouraged me to try and recount the events of what happened to me when I was ready.
Events that happened tome.Not Collins.
While he applauded my constant need to focus on her safety and wellbeing, he was more concerned about my lack of self-care. He said to get over the hurdle, I needed to take my own voice back from the situation.
I get enough flashbacks and nightmares on a daily basis, I’m not ready to revisit the events any more than I already do.
Phantom pain of the knife in my leg resurfaces and I absentmindedly rub my thumb over the scar on my thigh. Sometimes, when I least expect it, he assaults my senses, and I can feel the heat of his breath on my skin as he threatened Collins. Threatened Creed. The way he made me feel so fuckinghelpless and made sure I had clung to the fragile threads of life just barely enough to watch my sweet girl suffer.
I’ve never been a hateful person, but I fucking loathe him.
Finding out he died by Creed’s bullet brings me a sick sort of satisfaction and stark relief.
It’s not like me to feel like this, but I like to think that if Collins and Creed were to hear my thoughts, they’d agree.
The morning sun warms my skin as I sit here in nothing more than a pair of boxers and a black beanie cap that covers the dressing over my ear, but it feels…good to not cover myself up. It had become habit in the facility because not only was it cold as fuck, but other patients were just rude with their blatant staring.
Doctor Munn had come to see me every other week to check on the healing progress of my injuries. All of the scabbing is gone, but the scars on my face are still tender, and I have to put an ointment on them several times a day to keep the skin from puckering too much as it heals. The close range of the gunshot caused burns as well as torn flesh.
I still count myself lucky that I didn’t lose my hearing.
Or my life.
I write all of these feelings in my journal, doing my best to keep my thoughts optimistic as I record them. It’s easier to write with the silicone grip around the pen. I felt like a child at first when Wilder gave it to me, because it’s technically for training children on how to properly grip a pencil. But it helps me to not have to hold it so tight that it causes my hands to tremble, so I can’t complain, really.
“You’re supposed to be resting, my sweet boy.” Creed’s rough voice whispering in my ear has me jumping out of my skin. I slam my journal closed out of habit and turn to find him backing up to lean against the doorframe, and Collins standing in the small opening that leads out to the balcony. He doesn’t take any offense over my locking the bad memories and thoughtsaway, because a devious little smile tugs at his lips, his perfectly straight teeth on display for me.
I clear my throat and adjust where I’m sitting so that I’m facing them fully.
“I can’t possibly lay in bed for another minute without turning into a potato, Creed.”
He just smiles wider, biting his lip as he takes a seat on a chair across from me. Collins looks tired, but no less perfect in her leggings and my hoodie. Her pastel blue and green hair is piled high on top of her head in a lopsided messy bun, faded streaks hanging loose around her face. Her eyes drop to the journal at my side and the Polaroid selfie of her and Creed taped to the front. When she smiles, it’s enough to have my heart pounding in my chest.
Creed laces his fingers through hers and tugs her out onto the balcony and into the soft sunshine that’s peeking through the trees. He kisses her knuckles, chuckling while he eyes me.
“But what a perfectly adorable, freckled potato you’d be,” he jokes, and I playfully roll my eyes, trying to play off the blush that’s creeping up my neck and heating my cheeks. His eyes roam over my body lazily, never once lingering on my scars that are on display.
Collins releases him to sit down next to me, leaning to rest her head on my shoulder, quietly assessing as she asks, “How are you feeling?”
I look down at my hands, at the fading pink scars that encircle my wrists, and take a moment to consider the real answer, not the automatic response of‘I’m fine’that I used to give everyone. Blowing out a heavy breath, I press my cheek into her hair and lift my eyes to meet Creed’s.
“I’m…” I sigh, “I…I feel weird.”
