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“Apparently, some wounds just take a little longer to heal than others.”
I don’t know if that’s true, or if it’s just what the doctor said to avoid having to do another round of stitches. Honestly, if it goes on for much longer, I’ll have to go back to the hospital. It’s driving me insane that this keeps happening.
I peel off the blood-soaked bandage and Secret empties the plastic bag she was using for our ‘road trip snacks’. She holds it open, and I put the used bandage inside.
“That’s what the doctor said?” she asks.
“Mm hm,” I murmur as I grab a tissue and wipe up the excess blood before I apply the fresh bandage. “Out of eighteen separate wounds, this is the one that’s being a pain in the ass.”
I don’t know how that psychopath put so many holes in me without actually killing me.
It’s a miracle that all I’m really left with are some nasty scars.
“I’m so sorry,” Secret whispers.
I look up to see her face is pale and her eyes are tearing up.
“No,” I start, not sure why she’s upset. “It’s okay. I …”
“It’s not okay,” she tells me, her voice full of emotion. “I’m the reason he did this to you.”
I blink at her. “What? No. You’re not.”
“I am,” she says. “You could have died, and it’s because Frank Palmer was obsessed with Ryan, and I’m Ryan’s mate.”
I tug my sweater down and shake my head. “No. Secret, listen to me. It doesn’t matter what motivated that psychotic asshole. He’s the one who hurt me. You have nothing to feel sorry for. Tell me you know that?”
She takes off her glasses and rubs her eyes.
I put my hand over hers, wincing a little when I turn to stretch.
“I can’t lose you,” Secret says, looking at me with tears running down her cheeks.
“You’re not going to,” I promise, putting my arms around her and ignoring the stab of pain in my stomach. “Don’t worry about that, okay? I’m fine, and I’ll be around so much when I move to that apartment near yours that you’ll be sick to death of me within weeks.”
“Do you promise?” she asks, hugging me back.
“I promise.”
“Will you please go see another doctor about that wound?”
“Sure,” I agree, knowing it’s probably a good idea.
“You mean it?” she asks, pulling away and wiping at her tears.
“I’ll go and get a second opinion.” I take a pack of makeup wipes out of my purse and hand her it. “Your mascara’s running, and I really don’t want your mates looking at me like I’m a monster who made you cry when we get to the city.”
She laughs. “They know you’re not a monster.”
“I’m not so sure.”
They would challenge anyone who dared to hurt her, including me, and honestly, I respect them for that. It lets me know she’s safe with them.
“They know you’re my mother,” she says, her voice soft.
It makes sense that she told them. They don’t seem like they’d do too well with being kept out of the loop. It only makes me feel guiltier for not telling her sooner.
“I’m sorry I waited so long to tell you.”
