"A life I didn't want," I say, keeping my answer simple. The doctor glances back at Raine again, and I presume it's with a questioning look I can't see.
"I had nothing to do with that," Raine says. "I just happened to save her life." It sounds ridiculous, but it's true. Although, the doctor probably thinks he's trying to be charming and laughs nervously in response.
"Well, you do need stitches. That cut is probably going to leave a decent scar, but I'll send you home with some ointments to help with the scarring."
"It's just my leg," I tell him. "It's no big deal."
"I'm surprised to hear that. Most women with a scar anywhere on their body want to find a way to remove any trace of it," he says, standing up to wash his hands.
"Haven here isn't most women, Doc," Raine says, looking right at me.
"Guess not. Good for you," the doctor says while drying his hands.
"Well, you may want to hold her hand," the doctor says to Raine. "Cleaning the wound will probably be the painful part. Once I get most of the debris removed, I can numb it.”
Raine's eyes lock on my face, probably questioning if this is appropriate, or if he even wants to be that close to me. He glances away for a moment, his focus drifting to the speckled floor. With a subtle nod and a deep exhale, he pushes off the wall and makes his way over to the other side of where I'm sitting. "This was a trap, wasn't it?" he whispers.
"I never meant to fall down a hill today...or drown," I whisper back. I was in a relationship with another man just a day ago, and while I should feel like this is wrong, instead, I feel like it was never supposed to be any other way. Of course, he should never have gone to prison, either. Anytime I have considered this thought, I reminded myself that I was sixteen and stupid. Did I know what I wanted back then? Could those feelings carry forward seven years, never once fading even after not seeing him all this time?
Raine doesn't take my hand right away. There's an awkwardness between us, and I'm afraid to see whatever expression is on his face. Instead, I focus on his dangling hands, wondering what's going through his mind, especially after the anger he vented last night.
The doctor places an alcohol swab on the wound. The sensation burns, so I grit my teeth and inhale sharply. I close my eyes, trying to block out the scene, attempting to focus on something better—but the definition of better is currently blank, considering my recent life events. A digging sensation feels like a knife to my leg and a small whimper murmurs in my throat.
Behind my closed eyelids, I feel a sudden relief from the pain when Raine places his hand over mine, gently weaving our fingers together, one by one.
The sensation of Raine's hand and the warmth of his skin instantly calms me, taking my mind somewhere far away from this clinic. He squeezes my hand gently as he strokes small circles into the center of my palm with the pad of his thumb.
My breaths quicken and my pulse races in a way that can't be helpful in this situation, considering I feel like I may pass out again. Even while mildly numbed by other soothing sensations, the pain in my leg is still incredible.
"I still can't believe you passed out in there," Raine says with a chuckle. His hand is on my shoulder as he's guiding me outside toward my car. "That was a class act."
"I can't believe you're laughing," I tell him. "I don't remember ever seeing you laugh."
"I've had few reasons to do so," he says, turning serious again.
We make it to my car with a sudden awkward silence looming between us. He has thenow whatlook in his eyes, or maybe it's regret. If it weren’t for my accident today, life would have gone on with him being furious at me, and I would have had to accept never offering a real apology. Sometimes life has a funny way of making people hear what they refuse to listen to.
"I should try to get as much of my stuff from Bennett's house as I can before he gets home from work."
Raine scratches at the back of his neck as the sun beats against his caramel eyes, highlighting the three-day-old stubble on his face that he hasn't tended to. "I don't think I should be helping you with that one," he says. “But, are you okay to drive?”
"I agree, especially since the last time Bennett saw you with me, you were in your underwear, and yes, I feel much better now that I’ve been served apple juice and saltines for an hour." We both laugh for a moment, but the reality is, I would do just about anything for a hand in getting my stuff out of that house, but if Bennett sees any more of Raine, I can almost bet my life he'll have Dad on the phone within seconds. Unless, of course, he already has, which I wouldn't put past him. Their buddy-buddy relationship has driven me nuts. The number of times I had to be reminded by the two of them thatwomen always go for men who act like their fathersmade me more than a bit worried for any future Bennett and I may have had.Was he a thief too?I'd always wonder.
"Do you have somewhere to go once you leave his house?" Raine asks.
"Either Maryanne's or my parents. Neither are optimal choices right now,”for reasons I don’t feel like discussing. “I'll figure it out, though." Not sure where to even start with that, but I have no choice. It's time to stand on my own two feet after being fed gold for twelve years. "What about you, Raine? Where are you going to go?"
"I'll be staying with a buddy for a bit until I get on my feet. He owns Crows and offered me a job, so it's a start." Raine vises his hand over his face as the sun continues to shift away from the clouds. "If you decide to meander back into that bar, at least I won't feel responsible for having to kick your underage ass out of there."
"Ah, yes, this is true," I say. Would I act desperate enough to visit him at the bar I now know he's working at? I'm not sixteen anymore and getting away with that type of behavior isn't going to work this time. Desperation is truly ugly at any age, and it turned his life upside down the last time he fell for it.
"You should come by," he says coldly, with little emotion, almost as if he's not sure why he's saying it. I don’t know if I understand why he's saying it either, or why he's being so kind, for that matter.
"Does this mean you have forgiven me?" I ask.
"No," he says without much thought. "I'm still pretty angry, but I spent seven years trying to forgive you without reason. I was able to let it go, let you go, but…" he sighs. "It turns out, loneliness is an even bigger bitch after prison, and my head isn't on so straight right now."
"Understandable," I say, fidgeting with my car key, looking away from his hardened stare. I was hoping for a response of a subtler nature, but there aren't many hurtful words I don't deserve to hear.
