I helped Jeremiah into the cab, ignoring the uneasy looks from the driver, before sliding in beside him. I told the driver the address to the apartment. He simply nodded and pulled awayfrom the curb. It was only a short ride away. One I had walked many times, but we wouldn’t make it on foot. Not in Jeremiah’s state.
He stared out the car window, a glazed look in his eyes. I reached for his hand in his lap, holding it gently. I let out a long, shaky breath. I couldn’t believe what had just happened. It had been one of the scariest experiences of my life. To see Jeremiah bloody and bruised. To see his rage. To see his rival so callous and cruel.
I shouldn’t have even given Anderson the time of day. I should have left as soon as he sat next to me on that bench, but he was a snake. He was an expert at spreading his poison with the lies he weaved and the smooth words he delivered. It had almost gone too far before Jeremiah had stopped it. I felt foolish. Guilty for causing a fight, even though I knew their history played an even bigger part in what transpired.
The cab pulled up to the apartment building, glistening bright in the sunlight. I paid the driver and helped Jeremiah out of the car. The doorman spotted us through the glass doors and quickly opened them, a worried expression on his face.
“Is Mr. Mason okay?” he asked, directing the question to me as we approached.
“He will be.” I nodded. “Please, let security know not to let an Anderson Bradley into the building.”
The doorman nodded and took off toward the front desk. I was sure Jeremiah had already put security measures in place, but I had to be sure. I didn’t want Anderson or anyone associated with him anywhere near us. It was hard to know who to trust, as I led Jeremiah through the lobby toward the elevators. Anderson was either watching me himself, or had someone do it for him. How else had he magically shown up at the park? The feeling left me uneasy and avoiding eye contact with anyone who looked at us. Jeremiah remained silent, his breath just now starting to slow.
Inside the apartment, I led him to the living room, which was closest. Grunting slightly, I lifted his arm from my shoulders and eased him onto the couch. He lay back into it, resting his hands across his stomach, one hand’s knuckles coated in blood. His eyes were heavy as they settled on me standing over him. I looked over his swollen face. His split lip had begun to scab over. I hated seeing him like this.
“Are you okay?” he asked, concern in his eyes as they searched mine desperately.
I couldn’t help but laugh. “AmIokay? Look at you, Jeremiah.”
A small, easy smile spread across his lips. “I’m fine.”
“You don’tlookfine. Let me clean you up.”
I hurried toward the bathroom to grab some damp towels, antiseptic wipes, and bandages. When I returned, Jeremiah was pulling himself to sit up, wincing with every movement.
“Hold on, hold on,” I said, quickly rushing toward him.
I placed the first aid supplies on the coffee table before turning to him. I pulled him to a seated position and settled him against the back of the couch. This man was going to be the death of me. Getting into a fight and then trying to do everything on his own.
“Just relax,” I said firmly, narrowing my gaze.
He just nodded and leaned his head back against the couch.
I knelt on the floor beside him and took his bloody hand in mine. I grabbed a damp towel and gently began wiping away at the blood on his knuckles. They were swelling up quickly, and even without blood coating them, they were red from impact. The images of him punching Anderson flooded my brain. It had been so scary then, but now I could see he was protecting me.
Normally, that macho bullshit was a turn-off. But seeing Jeremiah fight for me was something else entirely…
Ignoring the aching feeling of want for him in that moment, I turned and grabbed the antiseptic wipes. Ripping them open, I looked up at him warily.
“This might sting,” I said.
He nodded, closing his eyes as I ran the wipe over his knuckles. His jaw tensed slightly in pain as his breath caught. I quickly finished and bandaged his hand. I lifted his hand to my lips, andsoftly kissed each knuckle. His blue eyes, once heavy, sharpened their gaze as he watched my mouth press against him. I swallowed hard, squirming slightly as I rocked back on my heels.
I grabbed a towel from the coffee table and pulled myself to sit next to him on the couch. He turned his face toward mine. I wiped his chin with the towel, removing the dried blood in his dark stubble. Then I assessed his split lip. A deep gash ran through the center of his bottom lip. I gently dabbed at it.
“Does it hurt?” I asked.
He shook his head.
“Liar,” I said with a soft laugh.
He chuckled, its low rumble running through me. My toes curled at the sound. I went to distract myself from the longing feeling growing inside me. He was in no shape for what I wanted him to do to me. I went to reach for the first aid supplies and start cleaning up, but Jeremiah’s fingers wrapped around my arm.
I looked back at him curiously and saw the same longing look in his eyes that were as clear as the blue skies outside. I went to say something, to protest the one thing we both wanted in that moment, but he lifted his bandaged hand and ran his thumb across my lips. My words left me.
His other hand reached up, and his fingers gently brushed my hair aside until they met the bare skin of my neck. I closed myeyes at his touch as he pulled me toward him. It wasn’t until we were inches from kissing that I looked at him seriously.
“But your mouth…” I whispered worriedly.
