Page 69 of Hunt You Down

“I swear, I’m not squeamish,” he said, barely managing not to lose his lunch.

I’d been reluctant to let him touch me too much. Every time he tried, I flinched, even when I didn’t intend it. André was a physical person, and I knew that the lack of affection was bothering him. He didn’t expect to climb into the bed with me, but something as simple as a hug would have made him feel better. Still, all I could do was pry his hand away from his mouth while the nurse cleaned me up. That was enough to relax him.

“Baby, you don’t have to stay for this,” I told him. “I’m perfectly capable of doing this part myself. Could you just bring me a change of clothes?”

André looked relieved. “That I can do.”

When the nurse stepped away, André leaned down to give me a kiss, careful not to grab my neck. Such acts seemed so small, but they’d been an adjustment for him over the last few weeks. They were small changes, but I noticed them. If none of this had ever happened, André could still hold my right hand. He could still cup my neck when he kissed me—which I loved. I loved kissing him. Even if I couldn’t always bring myself to initiate it.

Thankfully, the stolen clothes Regan had offered me had been destroyed. I’d never have to see them again. I laughed when André returned with a suitcase of clothes.

“I wasn’t sure what you wanted, so I brought you some options,” he said, emptying the wardrobe onto the bed.

“Did you have to bring me the whole men’s section of Bloomingdale’s?” I joked.

André laughed, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Maybe I did go a bit overboard.”

“Are you alright?” I asked, selecting a pair of sweats and a matching long-sleeved shirt. “You seem a little anxious.”

André opened his mouth, but then seemed to think better of what he was going to say. “I’m just ready to have you home.”

We had a long drive ahead of us since I’d been too unstable to be transferred to a hospital in New Orleans, so André built me a blanket fort in the passenger seat of his car. Once I sat down, he elevated my legs with pillows, buckled me in, and covered me with another blanket, leaning in for a kiss. “Try and rest if you can. I’ll wake you when we get there.”

Nausea kept me from falling asleep at first, but once we merged onto the highway, André placed a tender hand on my leg, and I was able to doze off. I blanketed his hand with mine, and he graced me with a smile. I was thankful for him, and I needed to do my best to show him that.

I dozed enough to keep myself comfortable for the long ride. I could still hear the roaring of tires on the asphalt, felt every time André slowed down or made a turn, but he never let my hand fall. Gently, he brushed the tips of my fingers as if he were counting to make sure I was still in one piece.

There, in the passenger seat of that car, with my hand in his, I felt… safe. I never expected André to be put in such a position, but now I knew that I was protected. Regan couldn’t touch me ever again. I had a long road to recovery ahead of me, but I also had a strong support system. I could finally start to heal from everything, and I could focus on loving André the way he deserved.

I didn’t have to be scared anymore.

The car stopped, and André brought the back of my hand to his lips. “We’re home baby,” he whispered.

I pried my eyes open, confused to see… trees and not the concrete walls of the parking deck. To my left, there was a row of houses. They looked familiar, but I couldn’t quite place why. To my right, the path created an aisle between two rows of trees, coming to an end at a wrought-iron gate. That I definitely recognized, but my head was just too damn fuzzy.

I unbuckled my seatbelt. By the time I did so, André had my door open and had extended a hand to me. He helped me to my feet, and waited until I was stable. It was dark, but street lights illuminated the sidewalk. There was no doubt in my mind I’d been here before.

“Where are we?” I asked, tucking into André’s side as he wrapped an arm around my waist.

He took a deep breath. “Home.”

I looked around again, confused. “This isn’t your apartment.”

“I know.” André laced his fingers through mine and led me through the gate.

As we walked up the driveway, my surroundings slowly came together. The Victorian house towered over me. There wasn’t a single light on, but I knew the place—it was the one André had brought me to when he met the photographer.

Oh, shit. “That deal you just closed…”

“I wasn’t selling.”

I could have blamed exhaustion for my denial. The painkillers could have also been at fault—but neither one of those was the true reason. No, that honor belonged to the crippling self-doubt that I still struggled with “Y-You bought a house?”

André nodded, pulling two keys from his pocket. “I bought us a house. Everyone’s been rushing around trying to get everything in place before you got discharged.”

“Who’s everyone?” I asked.

“Dylan, Emmeline, Penn, Amanda, and even Mitchell. But your brother said Emmeline is nesting, so she kind of took charge.” He paused, flipping the keys around in his hands. “I couldn’t give you the life you deserve in a bachelor pad. That’s not who I am anymore.”