Page 19 of Canvas’ Muse

She's right. I know she's right. But leaving feels wrong.

Davis's hand is still in mine, warm and solid. I lean forward, studying his face. The eyebrow piercing that matches mine. The tattoos that cover every inch of visible skin. The strong jaw, the sharp cheekbones, the mouth that smiled at me while creating art on my thigh.

"Okay," I whisper, more to myself than to Nora. "Okay. A quick shower."

I gather the clothes Nora brought and follow her out of the medical room. The hallway is quiet, most of the club apparently giving us space. We climb the stairs to the second floor, and Nora leads me down another hallway to a door near the end.

"This one's yours while you're here," she says, opening it.

The room is small, just as she warned. A twin bed with a simple gray comforter, a nightstand, a lamp, a dresser. A door on the far wall leads to what I assume is the bathroom. It's basic, but it's clean and private.

"Bathroom has towels, soap, shampoo, everything you need," Nora explains. "If you need anything else, just ask. My room is two doors down. Ivy's is across the hall."

"Thank you. Really. For the clothes, for the room, for... everything."

Nora smiles. "Like I said, we take care of each other. That includes you now." She pauses in the doorway. "Canvas is going to be okay, Eden. Saint's good at what he does. And these men... They're tougher than they look. He'll heal."

"I know." But my voice wavers slightly.

"Get cleaned up. Rest if you can. And welcome to the Iron Phoenix." She closes the door behind her.

I stand in the middle of the small room, holding borrowed clothes, covered in the blood of a man I met three hours ago, and I finally let myself feel it.

The fear. The terror of those gunshots, of glass exploding, of Davis covering me with his body. The weight of his blood on my hands as I tried to stop the bleeding. The way he looked at me in the car...

I'm falling for him.

I barely know him, and I'm falling for him.

And I have no idea what the hell I'm supposed to do about that.

The shower calls to me. I head into the bathroom. Small but functional, with a simple shower stall, toilet, and sink. I strip off my blood-stained clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor, and step under the hot water.

The blood washes away in pink rivulets, swirling down the drain. I watch it go, scrubbing my skin until it's red, washing my hair twice to make sure I get everything out. The dragon on my thigh throbs beneath the protective film, a reminder of how this day started.

Just a tattoo appointment. That's all it was supposed to be.

By the time I get out, my skin is pruned and the water's starting to run cold. I dry off with one of the towels, gently patting around the fresh tattoo, and pull on Nora's borrowed clothes. The sweatpants are soft, well-worn. The t-shirt smells like lavender detergent. The sports bra fits perfectly.

I look at myself in the mirror. Clean, exhausted, still processing. I should sleep. My body is begging for it. But the thought of lying down while Davis is two floors below, alone in the medical room, feels impossible.

I compromise. I'll go back down, sit with him for a while longer. Make sure he's okay. Then maybe, if I can convince myself to leave him, I'll come back up here and try to rest.

But as I head for the door, clean and dressed in borrowed clothes, one thing is absolutely clear:

I'm not going anywhere. Not until I know Davis is going to be okay.

And maybe not even then.

Chapter 6 - Canvas

My vision is blurred when I first open my eyes, everything soft around the edges like I'm looking through frosted glass. The ceiling above me is white and unfamiliar, and for a moment, I can't remember where I am or why my entire left side feels like it's on fire.

Then it comes back. The studio. The gunshots. Eden.

I try to sit up too quickly and immediately regret it. Pain explodes through my shoulder, radiating down my arm and across my chest. A groan escapes before I can stop it.

"Easy." A hand on my good shoulder pushes me gently back down. Phoenix's face comes into focus above me. "Don't be an idiot. You got shot less than—" He checks his watch. "Thirty-six hours ago."