Page 63 of Hearts at War

“Hey.” He held his hands up in a truce-like manner. “I was just helping you out.”

Exactly. That was the fucking point. This was how it all started with David. A favor granted, supposedly out of the goodness of his heart. An act of kindness that had turned so quickly into something far more sinister.

But he’s not Davd.

Not every man will be like that.

I hadn’t had enough time on my own and away from my ex for that line of logic to sink in.

I knew not everyone was like David, but this close to escaping him, it seemed to make more sense to assume the worst of every man.

But he’s not David.

I didn’t know Roarke that well. Despite the two times he’d taken it upon himself to tell me about his life, I wasn’t familiar with him in a soul-deep way to realize he wouldn’t end up like David.

He’s not...

I sighed, trying to walk myself down from this anger. I didn’t want to project it on him. Not when he could disarm me with that expression of concern. Even a hint of hurt.

“All right.” Keeping his hands up, he took a step back. When he lowered them, he winced a bit at moving the bandaged one.

“Shit.” Now that the haze of fear and frustration waned, feeling safer just being closer to home, I noticed the gauze bleeding through. “You’re—” I huffed out a tired breath. “You’re bleeding.”

He backed up more, turned off from my furious warnings to back off. I couldn’t blame him. But the idea of him retreating wounded me. I didn’t want to be this bitchy, hissing woman. I didn’t want to think of him in pain, bleeding or wounded at all. I wasn’t sure what to do or how to feel, but I couldn’t forget that he did care. He’d cared enough to walk me home that one night. He cared enough to offer me shelter when I was locked out. And he’d cared to use his friendship with a cop to get me out of a ticket.

“Let me help.” I stepped toward him, reaching out my hand. “Let me at least help you with that bandage.”

“No.” He grunted a weak laugh. “I’ve dealt with this back-and-forth shit before. No thanks.”

“I’m not going back and—” Okay, I was, telling him to go then just as quickly wanting him to stay. I was a mess, but I wasn’t ready to explain why.

“I’m not in the mood for mind games.” He turned, but I chased after him, worried at a better view of how much blood was leaking.

“Roarke, no. Wait. I’m not playing games.”

“Forget about it,” he snapped. “I don’t want to deal with your attitude.” When I grabbed hold of his lower arm, he stopped and scowled at me. “All I wanted to do was make sure you were all right since you seemed so upset.”

He yanked his arm clear from my grasp, showing me that he was ready to walk away. It wasn’t just words with him. He meant it. He was fully prepared to leave.

And I couldn’t let that happen. I wasn’t clear. I was bouncing around, distorted with my reaction at seeing David in Burton. The only thing that seemed simple and true was how much safer I felt to be near this tall, mad man. I recalled how good and secure I felt when I was with him, and I wanted to be greedy enough to ask him to stay.

“Please,” I said, not begging but making sure I was calm and collected. “Let me just help with your injury.”

I swallowed hard, looking up at him and waiting for his reply.

Chapter 22

Roarke

“Please?” she repeated softly, toning down her insistent attitude.

What the hell is going on with you?

She was scared, pissed, and nervous all at once. I didn’t need a degree in psychology to see it on her face. I didn’t know her story, and I wasn’t about to try to get it out of her now, when she was all over the place like this.

But what motivated her to do a one-eighty and want to help me with my arm? It wasn’t that bad. I could deal with it myself even though it was on my dominant arm. As far as I knew, she wasn’t a nurse to be able to offer me accurate medical assistance I didn’t need in the first place.

Is she scared to be alone?