“Hey,” I managed, which came out more like a hiss than a word.
“You’re awake.” He sat back, relief skidding across his features so fast I almost missed it. “That’s good. That’s—uh, great.”
I tried to shift, just to see if I could. The pain was instant, hot and blooming, but at least my parts were still attached. My left eye wouldn’t open all the way, and my tongue felt like it was covered in carpet fibers.
“How long,” I said. “Was I out?”
Burke looked at his watch, then at me. “Couple of hours. You’ve been in and out.” He hesitated. “We had to give you something for the pain. Sorry if it makes you loopy.”
I wanted to say I was always loopy, but the joke got lost on the way to my mouth. Instead, I watched the way he fidgeted—his hands constantly in motion, like he was building something only he could see.
“Is this the… guest room?” I asked. The words came slow, like pulling taffy through a keyhole.
He nodded. “Best room in the house.” He paused, then shrugged. “Okay, only guest room in the house, but still.”
There was a glass of water on the nightstand. I eyed it with the desperation of a man lost at sea. Burke saw, reached for it, then stopped, as if remembering not to spook the wounded animal.
“You want a sip?”
I nodded. He moved so slow it was almost funny, cradling my head with one hand and holding the glass with the other. His fingers were warm, gentle, and he never touched the bruised side. I drank, let the cold settle the burning in my throat.
He set the glass down and sat back, still hovering at the edge of my space. “You’re safe,” he said, and his voice broke a little onthe word safe. “Nobody’s getting in here unless they want to eat lead or get shamed by Jojo.”
“Jojo could kill with kindness,” I said. This time it sounded more like a joke.
He grinned, quick and wild. “He’s got a black belt in compassion. And he’s running point on your recovery.” Burke’s face sobered. “He’s got some kind of herbal crap he wants you to try, but I told him nothing until you were conscious and could give consent.”
I tried to laugh, but the sound stuck. “Thanks. For… all of this.”
He shook his head. “Don’t. It’s nothing.”
It was not nothing. It was everything.
We sat in silence for a minute, sunlight crawling across the floor. I was aware of every inch of my body—the throbbing at my temple, the dull ache in my side, the weird comforting pressure of the blanket that wasn’t mine.
The one thing that didn’t hurt was my hand, because I realized Burke was still holding it, his thumb tracing a lazy pattern over my knuckles. Like he didn’t know he was doing it, or maybe like he did and just didn’t care.
His scent—pine and leather, but also something sharper, almost electric—wrapped around me. It was stupid how safe I felt, with him right there. Stupid and dangerous.
I tried to pull my hand away. Not out of fear, but because I didn’t want to get used to it. I didn’t want to forget, even for a second, what came next. What always came next.
He let go, but the warmth lingered. “You want more water?” he asked.
“I’m good.”
A shadow crossed his face. He looked like he wanted to say something but was afraid it would make things worse. “Can Iget you anything? Food? Jojo said you used to like those protein shakes, but if you’re not up for it—”
I shook my head, the motion dizzying. “Just… need to think for a minute.”
He nodded, then went quiet. The room felt full of words neither of us could say. Outside, I heard the distant whinny of a horse, the low bark of a ranch dog. I tried to piece together the timeline in my head: the fight, the escape, the walk across town. The blood. And then waking up here, in a bed that didn’t hurt, under a roof that wouldn’t collapse in the next hour.
I blinked hard, just to make sure it was real.
Burke was still watching me, but his expression had changed. There was a hunger in it—not the bad kind, not the Dennis kind, but a hunger to understand, to be let in. It was almost worse. I wasn’t used to people wanting the truth.
“You’re really not going to ask me what happened?” I said.
He shrugged, but the motion was tight. “You’ll tell me if you want to. Or not. I don’t need the details to know it wasn’t your fault.”
