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Devon’s whispered words weren’t meant to be said aloud, but she couldn’t bring herself to wish them back. Why would she? They were the truth.
Blake was the most caring, protective man she’d ever known. And for reasons she might never understand, he wanted her.
He called me his girl.
Memories from those heartwarming moments before they were nearly killed rushed back. So did those horrifying seconds before she’d knocked herself unconscious.
The squeal of the tires. The SUV. The fear in Blake’s voice when he’d shouted her name.
It was the last thing Devon heard before everything went black.
“Hey.”
Blake’s gentle tone pulled her gaze to his. “Yeah?”
“You okay?”
The concern on his handsome face soothed some of the turmoil rolling through her.
“I’m good.” She started to nod, but stopped when the movement created a wave of dizziness. “My head hurts, and I’m tired. But I’m okay.”
Even if she wasn’t, Devon wasn’t sure she would have admitted it just then. He was already worried. He also blamed himself.
It was there, in those incredible blue eyes.
“Don’t.”
Blake blinked. “Don’t what?”
“Blame yourself for what happened.”
He looked away, which was as good as any confession he could’ve given.
“I’m not—”
“You are.” She took his hand in hers. “And I get it. If the situation were reversed, I’d probably blame myself, too. But we’d both be wrong, because the only people to blame are those involved in whatever it is I’ve stepped into. You’re doing everything you can to keep me safe, Blake. So please, don’t feel guilty for what someone else did.”
He didn’t look away, and the room grew silent for several seconds before Dr. Bennett gave a soft clearing of her throat.
“Do you have any questions for me, Devon?”
She looked at the other woman. “No. I think I’m good.”
“Well, if you think of anything else, let me know.” Dr. Bennett smiled. “I’ll be back to check on you before you’re discharged.”
“Thanks, Doc.” Blake stood and shook Dr. Bennett’s hand.
Once the emergency room physician left, Devon leaned against her pillows and sighed.
Blake pulled his chair closer. “What do you need?”
“Nothing.” That wasn’t true. “I’m exhausted. And hungry. And pretty sure someone’s bowling inside my head.”
He squeezed her hand. “I’ll get you something to eat as soon as we’re out of here.”
She studied him closely.
The bruising along his jaw from the fight in her apartment was beginning to fade, but there was a fresh scrape near his rugged chin. His shirt was wrinkled, and a dark stain covered the fabric near his shoulder.
