Not as terrifying as Jet, for some reason, but he gets under my skin like the itchiest rash and I’m already scowling before he even opens his mouth.
And I don’t give a shit what he has to say. “I don’t have a concussion anymore,” I blurt to Corey before Lynx can get a word out. His mouth snaps shut, and I enjoy his glare for all of two seconds before Corey steps forward, way too close for my liking.
He breathes in, gaze boring into mine, then reaches for the sheet covering me. “May I?”
There’s a tense set to his shoulders. It makes me nervous enough to debate telling him no.
But at least he asked. From the look on Lynx’s face, he’s ready to tear them back regardless. Curiosity gets the better of me and I nod.
Corey manages to shield my view from what he’s doing. “I’m just going to check your stitches,” he says softly, and I relax back into the pillow. For whatever reason, I trust him in a way I don’t any of the others. Maybe it’s because he’s a doctor, or maybe it’s the way his eyes don’t hold the same coldness that the others’ do.
His touch is gentle, practiced, and I lose interest trying to see what he’s looking at. My attention wanders to Lynx again, immediately wishing it hadn’t when I find him looking straight at me.
I inhale sharply, biting my lip to keep the sound inside.
His eyes narrow, andfuck me, they are the most amazing colour.
Contacts, I think. Got to be.
For one drawn-out moment, those eyes are full of something wild and inviting, and my body heats in response.
I want it.
Then he huffs, and it’s gone. Vanished like it was never there, and the sudden iciness in its place feels like a slap.
“All good?” he says, and I realise just in time that he’s not speaking to me. Of course. Why would he?
Corey straightens and carefully pulls the sheet up over me. “Yeah, the stitches are healing nicely.”
I frown, stretching my feet back and forth to test the pull on my thighs.
Nothing.
No pain, just the tug of the stitches that I reckon I don’t need anymore.
They’re both staring at me when I glance up.
“I put some numbing pain relief on your wounds earlier. It’s probably just kicked in.” Corey looks pointedly at my stomach. I’d forgot all about the wounds there.
It makes sense. They’d hurt like a bitch when I first woke up, and no way that disappears altogether in a couple of days. I want to ask about the concussion, but he’s already stepping back.
“Even though they might not hurt,” he says, “It’s important that you don’t try and move around while they’re healing. And don’t remove the dressings or you’ll risk infection.”
Hadn’t even thought about doing that, but now I kind of want to.
They leave without saying anything else, and the minute they’re out of sight I pull my phone out from under my pillow.
I scroll all the messages from Ash, guilt seeping in as they get more and more concerned. And then finally there’s one from my dad.
Dad: I know you’re angry. I don’t blame you. I was hoping to see you before I left, but you didn’t answer, and Ash didn’t know where you were. Or he wouldn’t tell me. Just that you were safe. I love you, and I’m so fucking sorry.
Shit.
I blink back tears before they get chance to fall. Not doing that here, not with Jet still stealing cold-as-fuck glances my way. I guess part of me was hoping it wouldn’t happen, that for whatever reason they wouldn’t actually follow through and take the house... I don’t know who he got himself involved with, but looks like they don’t fuck around.
Am I any better off?
I might not have gambled away my home, but I’ve still found myself in a huge fucking mess. One I have no idea how to get out of.
