Razor nodded as he dressed, Truck had a good point.
* * *
Slipping into the room, Razor moved carefully, trying not to wake Lottie. But when he turned toward the bed, he found her propped against the pillows, fast asleep.
Quietly, he kicked off his boots and stripped out of his clothes, setting everything off to the side before climbing into bed. Pulling the blanket over them, he reached for her, giving her a gentle tug. Her eyes fluttered open.
“C’mere,” he murmured, opening his arms where she could curl into him.
Lottie shifted toward him automatically, settling into the space he made for her. The second she moved close, Razor wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her against his chest.
It was almost too close, to tight. Like he needed proof she was still breathing.
“You okay?” she mumbled, voice rough with sleep.
“Yeah.”
The lie sat between them. Lottie stayed quiet for a minute, listening. His breathing was off. Slowly, she tipped her headback enough to look at him. The soft glow from the lamp spilled across the bed, catching the hard line of his jaw.
“You’re not okay.”
Razor stared at the ceiling for a long moment before scrubbing a hand over his face. “I keep seeing it.”
Her stomach tightened. “Seeing what?”
His jaw flexed. “Walking through the door.” His voice came out rough, scraped raw around the edges. “Seeing her standing over you with that gun.”
Lottie stayed still, not wanting to interrupt him.
“I was almost too damn late,” he muttered.
“You weren’t,” she reminded him.
“I heard the shot as I was headed up the stairs.” His arm tightened around her unconsciously. “Thought I lost you.”
The confession settled heavy, raw, unfiltered. Like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
Lottie shifted carefully, ignoring the ache in her face she pressed closer, resting a hand against his chest. “But you didn’t,” she said quietly.
Razor let out a humorless breath. “Doesn’t change the fact I put a bullet in someone tonight. I’m supposed to save people not kill them.”
Lottie was quiet for a second before brushing her fingers lightly against his ribs. “You saved me.”
His throat worked. “Still killed somebody,” he whispered against her head. “I don’t regret it.” He finally looked at her then, something unsettled moving behind his eyes.
“You killed someone who was about to kill me,” she reminded him.
“I don’t know what I would’ve done if I lost you,” he admitted in the quiet of the room.
Lottie reached up, brushing her fingers through his short hair. “You didn’t,” she whispered. “I’m still here.”
For the first time since climbing into bed, some of the tension left his body. Enough that when she settled back against him, Razor dropped his face into her hair and held her tighter.
After a few minutes, his hand drifted carefully to her face, thumb brushing lightly beneath the swelling around her eye.
“Hell of a bruise,” he muttered, voice low.
Lottie huffed a tired laugh. “You saying I look terrible?”
