When I opened my eyes, Jamie came into focus.
She sat in the chair at the foot of the bed, posture rigid, eyes alert. She looked like she hadn’t slept. Maybe hadn’t moved at all. The moment our gazes met, something electric passed between us — relief mixed with resentment.
She stood and walked over. Unscrewed a water bottle. Raised it to my cracked lips. I guzzled it like ambrosia. She pulled it back, then pressed two pills to my mouth when I didn’t reach for them. Her fingers brushed my lips. Our eyes stayed locked the entire time.
Something had shifted while I was busy not dying. She could have walked away that night, but she chose to kneel in my blood instead. She was a runner, but she stayed.How could I not be moved by that?
She lifted a bowl from the nightstand. “Eat.”
I nodded. She filled the spoon, pursed her lips, and blew on it. I swear to God, it was the sexiest fucking thing I’d ever seen. Maybe it was the fever. Maybe I was just that far gone. But that small act hit me harder than the bullet.
She fed me. Her fingers brushed my jaw. I felt it everywhere — my chest, my spine, my dick.What the fuck was wrong with me?
I couldn’t take the eye contact anymore. I looked away first.
“How’d you stay hidden so long?” I asked, voice wrecked. “All these years. They said you vanished.”
She set the bowl down and leaned back, arms crossed like armor. “I kept moving. Never stayed long. Shaved my head. Dressed like a man. Slept under bridges when I had to.” A pause. “People stop looking when you stop being what they expect.”
“You didn’t have to save me,” I said.
“No,” she agreed.
“So why?”
Her gaze flickered, then returned. “You didn’t have to come back to let me go, but you did. I couldn’t let that die.”
The silence stretched, thick with everything we weren’t saying.
“I’m sorry,” I rasped. “For the shit I did. For those nights—”
“I let you do it,” she cut in, thumb grazing the scar on her collarbone. “I’m not a victim.”
She stood abruptly. “You need to rest.” She grabbed the bowl and bottle and walked out, tension tight in her spine. Her hand gripped the bowl hard, like she was holding back more.
She’d saved me.
And now, whether she wanted it or not, I was going to save her.
Chapter Nineteen — Vinny
A week had passed, and I was healing. At least physically.
Emotionally, I felt like I was in a war zone. I kept thinking about what she said. What she'd done for me. We didn't talk about it anymore. Or what was developing between us. We'd danced around it. Kept it surface-level.
But the air between us was heavy with unspoken words that were driving me nuts. On top of the fact that she had to touch me to help me, changing my bandages. It felt like she was always touching me.
She was waiting outside the bathroom now, wearing a simple t-shirt and nothing else. She had the thickest, longest runner's legs. I sighed and willed my dick not to rise. Being trapped in a house with someone who looked like her was torture.
The moment I stood up, pain flashed through my ribs and my knee buckled. I grunted, catching myself on the edge of the tub, but I still went down hard. My back hit cold tile. Everything went white for a second.
"What happened?" she yelled.
"I'm good," I called through the door.
I wasn't good.
I hurt all over.
