“But he didn’t.”
“He did hurt you!” He growls, “The bloody knee and scraped hands are evidence of that.”
“But you stopped him.” I tell him. “He didn’t get to take it.”
His eyes fall closed, “He won’t come near you again.”
“I believe you.”
“You should rest,” He tells me, “I should go.”
“No!” I lunge forward, “No not yet.”
“Trouble,” He groans as if in pain, “I have to go.”
“Just stay until I fall asleep?” I ask, my vulnerability making my throat burn. His dark eyes flick around my face, “Please.”
His chin dips in the barest of nods and for the first time in almost two years, I take his hand in mine. Nothing had ever felt quite as right like his hand engulfing mine, so much bigger than me, and strong yet safe and warm. Kolt isn’t a man that’s safe, but I knew with him I would never be in danger.
His body towers over mine as we head to the bedroom. I needed to shower but I was too afraid that if I left the room, he’ll disappear so I take him straight for the bed. He holds so still, like he’s afraid as I gently push him down onto the mattress and then climb in beside him. The lights are still on, but I didn’t mind, not when I can stare at his face. He watches me back, committing my face to his memory.
“I like it long,” I gently lift my hand to his hair again, curling one of the long strands around my finger, “It suits you.”
“Shh, trouble,” He whispers, “Go to sleep.”
“But when I wake, you’ll be gone.”
He nods.
“And I won’t see you again.”
He shakes his head.
The sting of tears burns my nose and throat, “I don’t understand how I miss you so much.”
Kolt slowly places his fingers around my wrist, lowering it until it’s between us, and his hand is covering mine, then he looks away, down to our joined fingers and doesn’t say another word.
And try as I might, the claiming of sleep is too hard to fight. I am exhausted, from the shift at the bar, to the attack on the street and the emotional overload still rioting inside of me. Unable to stop it, I fall asleep.
And when I wake up the following morning, I’m alone in the bed.
Chapter Fifteen
She sleeps so peacefully, so elegantly, her long blonde hair pooled behind her head, her lashes fluttering against the apples of her cheeks. I trace the slope of her nose with my finger, the cupid bow of her upper lip and the plump bottom one. I count her freckles, the pain of leaving becoming a physical thing inside of me.
But before the sun breaks, I get out of her bed and tuck her in, turning out the light before I go. There’s a chill in the air as I walk to my car and hit the dial button the moment I’m able.
“Did clean up go okay?” I ask.
“Yes sir, he is in the hospital.”
Somewhere he didn’t belong. “Room number and wing?”
I type down the details in my cell and hang up the phone, inputting the location of the hospital into my GPS. The roads arequiet as I make my way there, the hospital too with empty halls and minimal staff that pay me no attention as I walk through the building. I take the elevator to the fifth floor, finding Patrick far too cozy in a private room. He’s a mess of blood and bruises against the stark white sheets, but still, even seeing him in this state is not enough of a punishment for him.
He shifts on the bed and whimpers like a little bitch, reaching for the remote and the call button. He hasn’t spotted me yet and no nurses will be coming to his aid.
I snatch the remote away and stand in his eyeline. “Hello Patrick.”
