Those two know me too well.
“I need him closer to town, just in case something happens.” Curling her lip at our president, she’s got no issue squaring her shoulder. “He can’t stay here. I won’t allow it.”
Judge tells her it’s dangerous. Leah doesn’t care. She doesn’t mention taking me to the hospital, thank God. I want to tell them that I just need a couple of painkillers and I’ll be fine.
Instead, I pass back out before I can even try to get a word in.
3
Leah
The drive home is a silent one after another long shift. Today felt like it might never end. Luckily, I got out before someone could ask me to stay.
Every red light I hit makes my grip on my steering wheel tighten.
Despite living here in town, my home still feels too far away.
With my window down, each gust of summer air tickles my cheeks until the light turns green, letting me get closer and closer to my final destination. The sky is decorated with stars, with not a single cloud in the sky.
Deep down, the worry of what will meet me once I get to my place plucks at my chest, but I try not to think too hard about it. Not when I’ve already spent so much of today distracted by my worries.
The usual sounds of sirens play on repeat in my head, a haunting tune. That’s what happens when I have to listen to itall day. If it’s not the ambulance, it’s the victims’ cries I have to treat. I think I prefer the sirens over the screams.
I need a drink.
Finally, the familiar sign to Ironwood Heights comes into view, and I can’t help but speed toward it, reaching the parking lot in a few passing seconds.
Cutting the engine, silence floods in as I stare at my apartment complex through the windshield. Exhaustion weighs down on me after pulling an eighteen-hour shift. For a few seconds, I rest my forehead against the steering wheel and wonder if I’ll have enough strength to climb the stairs that lead to the second-floor units.
I’m so exhausted.
Letting out a much-needed sigh to release some of this stress built up, I pull back and yank the keys from the ignition and step out.
Making my way up the flight of stairs and letting myself inside, a quiet home welcomes me. Dropping my keys in the bowl in passing, I kick my shoes off one at a time, abandoning them in the hall as I slowly make my way to my bedroom.
Passing by the living room, I notice the couch is empty, but a blanket barely clings to the arm in an attempt not to crash into a pile on the floor. If it weren’t for the hum of a fan deeper inside the home, I’m sure fear would be shooting through my body despite the weight of the exhaustion.
Continuing toward my bedroom, I find the door cracked. Entering the darkness, my jacket hits the floor before I shove my jeans down.
With nothing else to get in my way, I crawl under the blanket and curl up, ready for sleep to take me.
Two seconds later, an arm curls around me, pulling me against a warm chest. If it weren’t for the bandage pressed intomy spine, I’d elbow the hell out of the intruder. Instead, I’m forced to melt against him.
“I told you to stop sleeping in here.” Trying to put some agitation behind my voice, it’s the slow stroke of his thumb that makes it hard to cling to my anger. We’re on day seven now since he’s been crashing at my place, and the longer we spend time together, the harder it is to cling to the rage I felt for him going out and getting himself shot.
Even though I know he couldn’t, I wish he’d stayed.
“You still hate me?” His breath is warm against my neck before his lips tickle the skin below my ear. “How many times are you going to make me apologize?”
My toes curl as his fingers pinch the hem of my shirt before slipping under. “At least twenty more times.”
Warden strokes my stomach and sighs into my hair, not even trying to tuck his fingers between my thighs. A part of me wishes he would. He’s barely touched me, and I can already feel my body responding to him. “How was your shift?”
“Terrible.” Mumbling the word, I don’t confess that it’s because I spend the whole time worrying about him. All it takes is a sudden infection or a torn stitch to make all of my hard work go to waste. As much as I don’t want him to think I’ve forgiven him, I roll around until my face is tucked into the crook of his neck. “I don’t want to talk about it. I want to sleep.”
His front vibrates before he’s pulling me even closer. He murmurs something into my shoulder, but I’m thankful that it’s muffled. Already knowing how much of a weak spot I carry for this frustrating man, I’d rather he not take advantage of it now.
My brain is terribly useless at the moment. While he might have a physical wound that keeps him weak, my weakness is much deeper. My stupid heart tries its hardest to match his heartbeat, just because.
