My back aches, but nothing is broken. All that was in the dumpsters was drywall and insulation. I didn’t care if knives filled the dumpster as long as Naomi was safe.
I barely made it in time to reach out and grab hold of her as she fell past Mac and me. It helped slow the fall, and I was able to make sure I took the brunt of it, keeping her pressed to my chest. It did knock the hell out of me.
It’s been a few years since I’ve seen stars dancing in my eyes from contact. Pretty sure it was my father that had done it.
I’d been working on pure adrenaline when I raced back over to the building, my mind racing with possibilities. I knew Mac had to be the reason Naomi took off that way. It wasn’t until I hit the bottom stairs that I saw the men coming down them and knew they were searching for Mac and she was hiding.
If the stairs were blocked by gunmen, there was only one way down, and I instantly knew how Naomi and her flexible, springy body would manage it.
I had not anticipated that she would injure her shoulder. Would she have lived through the fall? Likely, but not with certainty, and that was one bet I’d never take.
“I can’t believe you did that.” Her blue eyes bore into me. We have more work to do if she doesn’t know all the things I would and will do to protect her. “Did you need a head scan? Can you no longer speak?”
“I’m good.” I grunt and wince. Naomi takes a syringe from the doctor. “Hey.” I pull back, but when I see something I have never witnessed before flash in her eyes, I relent, letting her sink the needle into me. If it makes her feel better, I’ll let her. “The hell was that?” I ask, feeling the effects of it almost instantly. “I’m guessing that’s not a tetanus shot.”
“It’s to relax you,” the doctor says. At least I think that’s what he says, but I don’t really give a shit. Not when Naomi’s fingers are undoing all the buttons of my shirt and then helping me out of it.
I lean back against the headboard and grab the back of my neck and rub, the pain that I had there melting away too.
“What is—” The two words come out in a breath. Naomi’s hand comes to my side; her fingers, like whispers, run up the tattoo I have there. It’s her name and in the very same place as the scar she carries from that day.
She jerks back, and I can tell her mind is racing. I wish I could get mine to, but my whole body feels heavy.
“Naomi,” I call out to her. Her spine straightens, her features schooling back into place.
“Check him over,” she orders the doctor again, moving to the end of the bed. At least she’s not pacing; now her eyes are boring into me once again.
There are a million and one things that need to be handled right now, but she’s here. Hasn’t left my side. Not sure I’d let her, but whatever they shot me with might hinder me in that.
The doc feels around for a couple of minutes. “I don’t think anything is broken, but he could have a concussion.”
“All right.” Naomi nods.
“I take it you know the drill for that?” he asks her, and she nods. “You’re both extremely lucky,” he says, grabbing his bag before heading out of the bedroom. I’d had us all come back to one of my houses here. It was the most secure at the moment.
“That wasn’t luck,” I mutter. That wasverymuch skill. Both of us together, and we’d come out pretty unscathed. We make a good team.
“The tattoo.” Her eyes flick to it.
“This old thing?” I smirk.
“I’ll cut it off of you,” she hisses.
“Is that so?”
“You think I won’t?” I should sayI hope not,but maybe it’s the drugs, or maybe it’s that I’m tired of pretending. Likely both.
“No.” She goes utterly still when I blatantly call her out. “Come here,” I tell her, patting the spot next to me. She doesn’t move, hell, not sure she’s breathing. “It will help me feel better.”
“Pax.” Her shoulders drop.
“I think it might make you feel better too.” I lift my arm, and my girl gives. She crawls onto the bed and to my side. I wrap my arm around her and tug her close. “Rest it on my chest,” I encourage, and she does.
Naomi’s head comes to lie on my chest, her arm sliding around my stomach, her fingers brushing against the tattoo.
“It was you,” she whispers after a few minutes, remembering.
“When it comes to you, it better always be me.” I swear I feel her smile against me, but all I can see is her dark hair that is in a long, tight braid. I play with the end.
