Page 22 of Canvas’ Muse

"I needed to see you."

Eden stops, her hands still on my shoulder, and looks up at me. Those bright blue eyes are red-rimmed from exhaustion, but they're focused entirely on me, and searching my face for something.

"You're bleeding," she says again, softer this time.

"I know."

"You need to sit down before you fall down."

"I know that too."

But neither of us moves. We stand there in the middle of her borrowed room, her hands on my injured shoulder, my good hand finding her hip like it belongs there.

"You stayed," I finally say.

"Of course I stayed." She says it like it's obvious, like there was never any other option. "You took a bullet for me, Davis. Did you really think I was going to just leave?"

"Thought you might come to your senses. Realize this life isn't worth whatever we—" I stop, not sure how to finish that sentence.

"Whatever we what?" Eden's voice is challenging now, that confidence I saw in the studio coming back. "Say it. Whatever we're building? Whatever this is between us?"

"Yeah. That."

"I don't run from things that matter." Her hands move from my shoulder to my chest, right over my heart. "I told you that in the car. I meant it."

"And I told you this isn't high school bullies, Eden. This is real danger. The Vipers will come after you if they think you matter to me."

"Do I?" She throws my own question back at me. "Matter to you?"

I should lie again. Tell her it's too soon, that we barely know each other, that she should leave before this gets more complicated…

But standing here with her hands on my chest, looking up at me with those blue eyes that see right through all my bullshit, I can't do it. Can't lie, can't push her away, can't pretend I don't feel what I'm feeling.

"Yes," I confess. "You matter to me."

"Good. Because you matter to me, too. And I'm not going anywhere."

"You should—"

"Stop telling me what I should do." Her voice is firm but not angry. "I'm a grown woman who makes her own choices. And I choose to stay. I choose to see where this goes. I choose you, Davis, even though I barely know you and you're in a motorcycle club and someone just shot at us and everything about this is completely insane."

"You're insane," I tell her, but I'm smiling.

"Yeah, well. Takes one to know one." She's smiling too now, tired, beautiful and absolutely perfect. "Now sit down before you pass out. Your bandage is definitely bleeding through."

She guides me to the bed, and I sit slowly, every movement sending fresh pain through my shoulder. Eden disappears into the bathroom and returns with a first aid kit that someone must have stocked the room with.

"Shirt off," she orders, all business now. "Let me see the damage."

I try to pull my shirt over my head and immediately regret it. The movement pulls at the stitches, and I can't lift my left arm high enough to get it past my shoulders.

"Here." Eden helps me, easing the shirt off without jarring my shoulder more than necessary. When it's off, she sucks in a breath. "Yeah, you're bleeding. Not a lot, but enough. You definitely shouldn't have been walking around."

"Needed to see you," I say again, because it's the truth.

"I didn't leave your side for twenty-four hours, Davis. I monitored your vitals, changed your bandages when Saint showed me how, talked to you even though you were unconscious. I haven't cared about someone like that in—" She stops, swallowing hard. "Ever. I've never cared about someone like that ever."

"Eden—"