"Told you to fuck off," I snap.
"Wasn't me you told." Shadow's voice is low and rough, and something in my chest clenches at the sound. "But message received. Just want to talk for a minute."
"We have nothing to talk about."
"Probably not. But I'm standing out here anyway, bleeding through Luna's nice bandaging, so you might as well let me in."
I shouldn't care that he's bleeding. Shouldn't care that he's in pain because he took a bullet meant for me. I shouldn't care about anything.
But apparently my stupid, broken heart didn't get the memo, because I find myself walking to the door and pulling the chair away.
I don't unlock it though.
"It's not locked from my side," Shadow says, like he can read my mind. "You can open it or not. Your choice."
Your choice. Like I actually have choices anymore.
But I turn the lock anyway, then back away quickly, putting distance between myself and the door before he can come in.
Shadow enters slowly, and I notice he's careful to leave the door partially open. Not trapping me. Giving me an escape route if I need it. It's such a small thing, but it makes something in my chest loosen just slightly.
He's wearing a clean shirt now, but I can see the bulk of bandages underneath. His left arm is held against his body, and there's a tightness around his eyes that suggests he's in more pain than he's letting on.
"You're still bleeding," I say, because apparently I can't help myself. "I’ve heard Luna saying you needed thirty minutes to convince me to let her examine me, not stand around making your injury worse."
"So you were listening at the door."
"Fuck you."
His lips twitch, almost like he wants to smile but forgot how. "You've got a mouth on you."
"Yeah, well, I've earned it. Now say whatever you came to say and leave."
Shadow moves further into the room, and I tense, ready to bolt for the door if he gets too close. But he just walks over to the dresser and leans against it, keeping a solid ten feet between us.
"Luna's worried," he says. "Thinks you might be injured and too stubborn to admit it."
"I'm not injured. Just bruised and pissed off and really fucking tired of people trying to tell me what to do."
"Fair enough." He's watching me with those unsettling gray eyes, and I can't tell what he's thinking. "But you should still let her check. Just to be sure."
"Why do you care? You made it clear in the van that I'm just a responsibility. A burden to be managed until you can pass me off to someone else."
"I didn't say you were a burden."
"You said I was a responsibility. Same thing."
"It's not—" He stops, jaw clenching like he's struggling with something. "Look, I'm not good with words. Never have been. I say shit wrong, and people misunderstand, and it's just... easier to not talk most of the time."
"Then why are you here talking to me?"
"Because you won't talk to anyone else. And Luna's right. You need medical attention whether you want to admit it or not."
I laugh, and it comes out bitter and broken. "What I need is to be left the fuck alone. To not have to be grateful for being rescued from one group of bikers by another group of bikers. To not have to pretend I trust anyone in this goddamn place."
"I'm not asking you to trust us."
"Then what are you asking?"
