“Are you seriously worried about that right now?”
“This is your baby. You’ve had this truck longer than you had me.”
The words stung, even though I didn’t think she meant them to. “Kels, I don’t give a flying fuck about the seats. It’s just a vehicle. You’re—” I stopped, jaw clenching.
You’re everything. You’re the mother of my children and the love of my life and the only person who’s ever really known me.
Not the time, asshole.
“Just get in the damn truck.”
She laughed or maybe cried—hard to tell with all the blood and ice on her face. But she let me help her up, let me guide her legs in, let me reach across to buckle the seatbelt. My hands shook so badly that it took three tries to get it latched.
I pulled a bandana off the dash and pressed it against the cut on her head. Still bleeding, but slower. Maybe.
“Hold this.” I guided her hand up to maintain pressure. “Tight as you can.”
Kelsey finally leaned back, exhausted, the bandana already darkening with blood. I cranked the heat to maximum, angling all the vents toward her.
“Still so bossy,” she grumbled through chattering teeth, head tipping back against the headrest. “Don’t forget the groceries.”
Ten minutes, fifteen curse words, and one busted ass later, the groceries, purse, and cell phone were safely loaded into the Bronco. I eased back onto what I hoped was the road. Visibility was worse than before, if that was possible. We started the slow crawl up to my place, the engine rumbling in displeasure at the pace.
Kelsey had moved to the middle of the bench seat while I was getting everything out of the SUV, and her head now rested against my shoulder.
“Hey.” I reached over when she went quiet, gently squeezing her thigh. “Talk to me. How many fingers am I holding up?”
“You’re driving,” she said without opening her eyes. “Both hands on the wheel, Theodore.”
“Don’t fall asleep,” I said when her breathing started to even out.
“I’m not.” But her voice was drowsy, soft. “Just resting my eyes.”
“Kelsey.”
“I’m okay,” she murmured. “We’re okay.”
We weren’t. We were about as far from okay as two people could be. But with her head on my shoulder and her breath on my neck, I could almost believe her.
Almost.
6
kelsey
The cold porcelainof Teddy’s bathroom counter bit through my wet clothes, but at least I’d stopped shaking. Mostly. My feet dangled like a child’s as he rummaged through the medicine cabinet, muttering about hydrogen peroxide and where the fuck he’d put the good bandages.
The overhead lights were softer than I expected—a warm golden—nothing like the harsh bulbs that had lit up every one of Sky’s skinned knees and Addie’s split lips from soccer headers gone wrong.
“Found them.” He emerged with a rectangular white box that looked untouched, probably bought during some optimistic grocery run where he’d convinced himself he’d take up mountain biking or whatever men did when they moved to Colorado to forget their ex-wives.
The bathroom was exactly what I’d expected from bachelor Teddy—utilitarian but clean, a single toothbrush in the holder, one towel on the rack. No decorative soaps or coordinating bathmats. Just the essentials, arranged exactly how he’d kept them when we lived together. Even his razor sat at a perfect right angle to the sink edge.
“This is gonna sting,” he warned, dabbing a cotton ball with antiseptic.
“I’m not five, Teddy. I can handle?—”
I hissed through my teeth as soon as it touched my skin, the burn drowning out my ability to think rationally?—
