Page 25 of Flashback for the Forward

“So there’s nothing tying you to him?” I hedged.

“No. Not legally.”

Relief crashed over me with the force of a tidal wave.

“Good, then you’ll never see him again,” I declared.

She hummed. “A girl can dream.”

I bent my knees so that I could look her in the eyes when I said, “I mean it. He’s never going to get another chance to hurt you again. Not so long as I’m breathing.”

“You can’t protect me forever,” she protested.

I arched an eyebrow. “Wanna bet?”

A weary sigh was pulled from her chest. “I’m tired, Cole.”

“Okay. Let me get you patched up, then you can go to bed.”

Opening the first aid kit, I dug out the supplies needed to treat her open wound.

I ripped the package containing an antiseptic wipe before bringing it an inch away from her split skin. “This is going to sting,” I warned.

There was a tiny hiss that slipped past her lips when I made contact.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, feeling like an absolute asshole for causing her more pain.

“It’s fine,” Bridget gritted out.

“Nothing about this is fine.”

Her eyes lifted, sadness written in their emerald depths. “As strange as it sounds, getting knocked out was the wake-up call I needed.”

I reared back. “You lost consciousness?”

Anxiety flooded my system at her refusal to get checked out by a doctor. Best case, she sustained a concussion from whatever that asshole had done to her tonight. Worst case, she suffered a brain bleed, putting her life in danger.

I couldn’t lose her, not after I’d just gotten her back.

She lifted one hand to where I gently worked to clean the gash on her face. “Last thing I remember is him throwing me across the room. When I woke up, I was on the ground next to an overturned nightstand that was smeared with blood. I’m guessing I hit the corner on my way down.”

My blood pressure spiked.

He threw her across the room?

A haze of red filled my vision as a murderous rage permeated every cell in my body, and it took everything in me to keep my expression neutral so as not to scare Bridget.

But make no mistake, that motherfucker’s days were numbered. Cop or not, I would ensure he paid for what he’d done to her tonight.

Focusing on the task at hand, I surveyed the split skin above Bridget’s eyebrow. “This is pretty deep. Probably needs stitches.”

“Butterfly bandages are fine if you have them.”

I let out a grunt of displeasure. “It’ll take longer to heal that way and leave a raised scar. If we go to the hosp—”

She pressed two hands on my chest, forcing me backward. “I said no, Cole.”

“What if I call the team doc for the Surf? He stitches us up on the fly all the time.”