I let him look. I had nothing to hide. And even if I had turned to the streets to live, then it would have been my choice.
He let out a breath, thumb sweeping tenderly over my cheek, and dropped his forehead to mine. “You’re still just as soft as I remember.”
“I’m not soft,” I protested.
He squeezed his eyes shut but didn’t put distance between us. “You are, and it’s going to be my downfall.”
It took a second for his words to sink in, but once they did, hurt pierced me like the sharpest blade.
“Lucky for you, I’m not staying,” I retorted and scrambled off the bed. Okay, I rolled off. Good thing there was a rug.
Ooof.I really didn’t need the reminder of how sore I was.
Feet that were about twice the size of mine dropped over the foot of the bed, planting right in front of me. I pushed up as he reached down, catching me around the waist and lifting like I was some kind of lightweight. Listen, I carried my body around all day, and I can say emphatically that I am not.
Even though I would rather chew glass than let him help me, I didn’t fight. “You’re going to rip your stitches.”
“I only need one arm for this.”
How.Rude.
The second I was upright, I skittered away from his hold and lifted a hand in farewell. “So, ah, thanks for taking that bullet,” I said, suddenly awkward and two seconds from crying.
Thanks for taking that bullet?This was why I wasn’t a writer.
Broiling in my own embarrassment, I started for the door.
“Bold of you to assume leaving is an option,” he called after me.
At the door, I stopped and turned around. “You can’t make me stay.”
His eyes flashed, and he lunged forward, only to be stopped by the IV line sticking out of the inside of his elbow. Hissing, he glanced down at the offending catheter, then covered it with his free hand.
Worry lanced through me, and I forgot the door and turned completely around. Instead of expressing my grave concern, I decided to taunt him. “Looks like you’re the one that has to stay.”
His eyes flashed up to mine, skewering me where I stood. The oxygen in my lungs evaporated like water on a July day, and my heart started to pound. Holding my stare, he curled his hand around the IV and yanked, ripping everything away in one aggressive tug.
I gasped, mouth hanging open as my stomach clenched from the pain that had to have caused. Even as blood welled, he acted like it was merely lint on his sweater and tossed the line away to stalk forward. I stood there frozen like prey in a predator’s crosshairs with nowhere to run.
And then I remembered the door.
Let’s all ignore the high-pitched shriek I let loose as I spun to bolt. But just as I rushed forward, the door swung in, and, well, a collision seemed imminent.
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
Ghost
Kieran and that stupid gun.
I swear, the dude had a holster for it in his ass crack. If something even so much as breathed crooked, he was there… ready to feed it bullets.
Not today, my guy. Not today.
I saw the muzzle of his ass accessory before I even noted him, not intimidated in the least. I think it goes without saying that I penciled in bullets under minor concerns.
I’d also go ahead and tell you that fear required effort, but I’d be a liar because Pip wasn’t doing anything but existing, and here I was, scared as hell.
