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“Then why are you checking the house?”
He exhaled.
“I just can’t risk it.” He walked over by the door and showed me a panel. “This is state of the art. Cain put it in. We’re on his client list now.”
“Oh,” I said. I did feel pretty safe knowing that. Cain was almost as badass as Shane. My man, I thought with a weird little flip-flop in my tummy. Shane still gave me butterflies, even with a stab wound.
He busied himself in the kitchen, heating up some food he said Mason had brought by. I smelled chili and potato skins. Yum.
“You up for this? I could make you something else. Kelly brought lasagna too.”
“Hmm, can we have that later? I love Mason’s chili.”
“Sure thing, sweetheart.”
I smiled and stared at my hands. I felt so shy around him. It was different now. We hadn’t really been alone since he’d told me he loved me.
Maybe he hadn’t meant it.
Maybe he only said it because of what happened to me. Because of what almost happened to me.
And just like that, I was back there, sure I wasn’t going to make it. Sure I wouldn’t ever see Shane again. The tears started, and I shot to my feet, grabbing my cane and hobbling gracelessly across the room.
“Be right back,” I called as I disappeared into the bathroom. I stared at my reflection, willing myself to calm down. Instead, the room seemed to get brighter and more in focus. I could see everything. The faucet dripped and it was so loud I nearly screamed. I felt like I was floating above my body. I looked down, and my hands looked like they were miles away.
I forced myself to move, to do something. Anything. I reached out and grabbed the old silver faucet. I ran the water until it was ice cold. I held my good hand under the stream of freezing water and then pressed it to my cheek. It seemed to help a little. It grounded me.
“Are you okay in there, Parker?”
I jumped, my eyes lifting to the mirror. I looked godawful. I looked like I’d run a marathon. I was white as a ghost with bright red spots on each cheek.
I pressed my cool hand against the red spots again, trying to catch my breath.
“Yeah. I’m . . . I’ll be right out.”
I ran a brush through my hair and put on a lipgloss I found right where I’d left it. It seemed a million years ago. I opened the door and used the cane to walk back to the kitchen. I sat down. Shane brought over a bowl of chili and an open container of sour cream for on top.
“Why don’t you eat and then wash up? If you feel up to it?”
I gave him a relieved smile. He wasn’t going to press me on what was wrong. Maybe I could get over it on my own. These things took time. I had gotten over bad things before and I would again.
“I can’t wait to wash the hospital off me. And . . . everything else . . .”
He nodded and turned away, but not before I saw the flash of pain across his face. I would have to be careful about what I said. I didn’t want him to think of me as a victim.
I wanted him to want me, not pity me.
I dug into the chili, swirling a big spoonful of sour cream on top. Shane added some to the plate of baked potato skins and sat across from me. He took a skin and bit into it, watching me eat. It was quiet. Too quiet.
But I realized that I didn’t have the strength to try and make things ‘seem’ okay. Shane didn’t seem to mind. I ate my fill and went to take a sponge bath. What I really wanted was a shower, but I had to keep my wounds dry. So I used washcloths, standing awkwardly over the sink and wondering if things were ruined between us forever. When I got out, Shane was making the bed. His bed. The bed we’d been sharing these past weeks.
“I thought I could lie down with you. If you want.”
I nodded, surprised and touched. He pulled my robe off my shoulders. I turned away, embarrassed by my wounds. I’d looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. I definitely didn’t have the same skin anymore. The smooth skin he’d praised so much before.
He’d said my skin was ‘flawless’. Now it wasn’t. Now it was ragged and raw in spots, and stitched together like Frankenstein in others.
He didn’t say anything about it though. He just told me to lift my arms and lowered one of his giant T-shirts over my head. I sighed at the feeling of soft, worn-in cotton on my skin. It even smelled like him.
