“Hey,” he said. Voice hoarse, barely there.
I sat beside him on the bed, the soup bowl cradled in both hands.
He tried to push himself upright, but winced. I caught his shoulder, guided him back down, then tucked the blanket up under his chin. “You’re supposed to eat.”
He looked at me, blue eyes too wide in his battered face. “Not hungry.”
“Doesn’t matter,” I said, echoing Ransom. “You have to try.”
He nodded, let me scoop up a spoonful and bring it to his lips. He took it, slow, but the second it hit his tongue he gagged, turning his head away. I set the bowl on the nightstand.
My hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
Levi reached out, his fingers spidering over my wrist, tracing the tattoo he’d put there himself—black ink, a ring of thorns and his initials hidden in the vines. His thumb stroked over the new scab on my knuckle.
“I’m okay,” he whispered. “You don’t have to—”
“I do,” I said, harsher than I meant.
He flinched, and I hated myself for it.
I took a breath, forced the words out softer. “I do have to. It’s my job.”
He gave me a look—part skepticism, part apology. “Your job is woodworking. Not body-guarding.”
“Same thing,” I said.
He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
I sat there, frozen, feeling the war inside me play out in real time: the need to cradle him against my chest, to guard him from the world, fighting with the hunger to mete out violence, to answer pain with pain.
The soup cooled in the bowl. Levi’s hand was still on my wrist.
I didn’t know if I could keep him safe. But I knew I’d kill every single thing that tried to hurt him, even if it meant becoming something I couldn’t recognize in the mirror.
I tucked the blanket tighter around him, then stroked his hair back from his forehead, the old, automatic gesture.
“Sleep,” I said. “You can take a shower once you get some rest.”
He nodded, already halfway there.
I watched him, the rise and fall of his chest, the soft hitch of his breath when he rolled onto his side. I stayed until I was sure he was under, then crept from the room, closing the door soft behind me.
Downstairs, I heard the rifles racking and the brothers settling in for the night. The house was safe, for now.
I went back to the kitchen, poured the soup down the drain, and rinsed the bowl twice.
My hands still shook. They would for a long time.
But tomorrow, I’d find the men who’d done this. Tomorrow, I’d show them what it meant to fuck with a McKenzie. Tomorrow, I’d make sure nobody ever touched my Sunshine again.
* * * *
Levi only slept for a couple of hours before he woke up demanding a shower. Said he could sleep with the smell of blood all around him. I believed him because I knew what he was talking about.
Blood was a terrible bedmate.
The bathroom was a confessional, white tile and harsh light exposing everything you’d rather leave in shadow. I guided Levi in, one arm around his waist, the other bracing his shoulder.
