Damian smirks. “After we play.”
Jesse shudders. “You’re fucking scary man.”
Damian nods.
“I’m fucking starving and this soft food shit isn’t cutting it,” I complain.
“Want a steak? We’ll put it in the blender with gravy for you,” Lucy tells him.
“That ruins the steak. This sucks.”
“Time for your pain meds,” the nurse announces.
Kennedy’s like a big brother to Nicole. He’s going to bury his worry, but it’ll be there. I’ll have to get him alone to talk. Maybe he can help find out who did this to me and Ethan, but I think Damian might already have an idea.
I take the meds, gratefully. It doesn’t take long before the quiet conversation sounds hushed, and then I drift off to nightmare-filled dreams.
31
LINC
Itake the elevator upstairs. It was installed in CFD for this very reason… and for when the guys were so drunk, they couldn’t walk up the stairs. Mama’s already hovering, bringing me ice packs.
“I need to shower. There’s dried blood…” I begin.
Kennedy stands from the chair by the window where he was getting ready to strum his guitar.
“I’ll help you, man. You can’t reach the back.”
I press my lips tight. I hate being helpless. But I appreciate the gesture, so I give him a nod. “Thanks.”
I step in the shower and that’s when I realize I can’t use my arm. It’s in one of those hard-plastic casts you can take off but are advised not to.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
Kennedy strips down to his boxers and gets in with me. “I got ya man.”
I tilt my head under the spray, and pink and red tinge the water that swirls down the drain.
“You supposed to wash by those staples?” he asks.
I shrug. “I don’t give a fuck. I want that blood gone.”
He nods, grabbing the shampoo and carefully washing my hair, picking at the dried blood. “You can rinse. Pretty sure I got it all.”
Kennedy’s hands gently rub my scalp, making sure there’s no soap or blood left. I’ll never be able to repay him for this.
“Let’s see your back, Knox.”
Kennedy rarely calls me Knox. He’s trying like hell to keep this impersonal and I appreciate it. Still, it’s not just anyone I’d let help me like this. Not Jesse, not even Xan.
“Fuck,” Kennedy mutters, lathering up a washcloth with body wash.
“It feels as bad as it looks.”
“They broke it. Must’ve been steel-toe boots,” Kennedy deduces. “I’d like to return the favor, but my steel toes would beat their face until they were unrecognizable.”
I look at him over my shoulder, his eyes are narrowed slits, his jaw clenched.
