I’m smiling by the time Caiden sits on the bench near the DJ deck where my things are, placing me directly onto his lap while he dabs and tends to my self-inflicted cut. Baxter isn’t too far behind, bulging arms crossed, tattoos highlighted over tan skin as they sink beneath the tight shirt he wears. His hair is pulled into a messy man bun, and I resent the hair tie for keeping those strands hostage. Dark sea-blue eyes watch me carefully before he asks, “This happen often? Because not one of them looked anywhere near as concerned as they should have been.”
I snort, shaking my head. “I was trouble with a capital T when I was a kid. Injuries galore. We’ve learned to move on quickly when I start cracking jokes. That’s not to say they weren’t worried, but they know to get on with their day if I’m responsive and alert.”
“Jesus, Blue. How often were you injured as a kid?” Caiden snickers, pressing the towel more firmly to my eyebrow.
Wincing, I confess, “More often than I’d like to admit out loud. I’ve grown out of the clumsy stage, but I still have my moments. This moment, however, is all Uncle Mack’s fault.”
I shoot the man in question a glare, one that he blatantly avoids after snapping his eyes away as though he’d been caught staring at something he shouldn’t have. If he hadn’t opened his damned trap, I’d still be skating circles around my favorite hockey team by now.
“So… Mack Brady. I didn’t know he had a niece,” Caiden comments, lifting the towel, only to replace it when I feel a dribble of blood slip from the slice.
With a nod against his hand, I say, “Not many people do. For the most part, I was kept out of the limelight. People often forget my parents had me, since they’re Hollywood royalty. Not that I mind. I prefer life behind the camera as opposed to in front of it, despite having to sit pretty for photographs every now and then. Paparazzi aren’t my thing, and my parents knew that from early on. I only attend major events with them if they ask, meaning my name isn’t as big in Hollywood. Sure, people have heard of me, but it’s not like I’m stopped in the middle of the street for autographs and such. Uncle Mack is pretty private about his life, too, so he worked just as hard to keep me out of the press and shit. Even fewer people know that Morgan and I are cousins.”
Both guys nod at my explanation, and I sigh as I relax against Caiden, since he doesn’t seem to be in any rush to release me despite the wet material that uncomfortably clings to my legs and ass. Plus, he’s already seen me at my lowest. Leaning on him after taking a swift smack to the head from a hockey stick doesn’t seem all that troubling in the grand scheme of things.
“Looks like the bleeding is slowing down,” Caid mumbles under his breath after the next check of my wound, a breathof relief escaping when blood doesn’t spill down my face again. “Pretty sure that’s going to need stitches, though.”
“Sick,” I drawl, nodding like I’m totally okay with receiving another scar. I mean, what’s one more among the many I’ve received over the years? Sure, this one is above my eyebrow, but I’m going to look all femininely rugged and badass. Who doesn’t want that?
Baxter snorts and shakes his head before he reaches for my things on the bench, retrieving the keys to my baby, my cell, and my sweatpants and hat. When he turns to Caiden, he asks, “You driving her to the hospital, or am I?”
“Hospital?” I blurt, eyes widening.
At the same time, Caiden shrugs and answers, “I’m easy.”
“I’m not going to the hospital,” I hurry to say, shaking my head awkwardly, the towel slipping off my forehead only slightly. It’s enough to make me groan in pain when the soft material rubs harshly against the cut, a small drop of blood spilling when it opens at the slightest touch.
“What’s wrong with the hospital?” Caiden wonders, looking me over.
My eyes are still wide, and I shudder as I sort of explain, “I know someone there, and I’d much rather face the human embodiment of a fart than face him.”
Both men watch me intently, but I stand my ground. I’ll die before I willingly go to the hospital, risking an encounter with Tobe the Chode. That fuck-knuckle will be up my ass in seconds the moment he hears that I’m there. Since he’s one of three physical therapists, he’ll have the time to Velcro himself to me. I won’t be able to escape the pleading and begging for forgiveness.
The horror I feel must be visible on my face, because Baxter coughs over a laugh and sends Caiden a look before offering, “Rayne could stitch her up. He won’t be in work yet.”
Caiden looks my face over once more before nodding slowly, narrowing his eyes on me. “Good call. Let’s take Little Miss Klutz home. She can explain why the fuck she’s scared to go to the hospital on the drive home.”
“Oh, great,” I moan, slumping against the bastard, taking the towel from him with a huff now that I’m going to have to explain my history with that thunder-fuck I call an ex. Because if there’s one thing that’s evident by now, it’s that Caiden won’t let it drop until he hears every single juicy morsel of gossip.
I really hate my best friends.
Chapter Ten
Maddie
“Please don’t crash my car,” I plead from the back seat, putting far too much faith in Baxter with my baby. I mean, the guy is a famous car restoration specialist, but fucking hell, my heart is in my throat while he navigates the roads like a NASCAR driver. “And if you see any sentient robots—”
“Maddie, I think I’m more than capable of driving your car, even if Autobots started falling from the sky,” Baxter interrupts, grinning at me in the rearview mirror before he sets his eyes back on the road ahead.
Rolling my eyes, I fall back along the back seats, still clutching the soiled towel to my head. My leggings are wet, I’m uncomfortable, and not one of my besties has deemed me worthy enough to pick up the phone when I called. Sure, the voicemails and vaguely threatening text messages I’ve sent them all might be serving as signs not to answer, but I am a woman in need. Or, I was, until Caiden delicately placed me in the back of my car, pointed his finger a little threateningly at me, and demanded I share my truths as soon as we’re back home, since Baxter commandeered my car and forced Caid to drive his own.
“Whatever. I’m billing you if my car gets stepped on by Megatron,” I grumble, shuffling against the bench with an irritated huff, the inability to get comfortable plaguing me deeply.
Deciding enough is enough, I check that Baxter is still watching the road before opting for comfort. Kicking my sneakers off, I peel my leggings from my legs and drop them to the car floor before retrieving my sweats. Awkwardly, I stab mylegs into the pants, raising my hips off the bench to pull them up over my lacy white thong.
Only, I don’t get that far, because just as my hips rise, the car fucking swerves dramatically before righting itself again.
“What?! What is it?! Is it the robots?! Oh, God, it’s the robots!” I practically scream, my pants forgotten while I scramble to sit up, trying to peer out the windshield for any signs of killer robots sent from an advanced planet.
