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Curly wasn’t one to pray. He’d long ago given up on the notion of a God who loved him and answered his pleas, but at that moment, he peered up at the ceiling and prayed for the mental fortitude to resist reaching out and shaking Brooke until whatever was loose in her brain settled into place.
God, give me strength.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“I WAS HANDLING it.”
Brooke squared her shoulders and tried to appear the competent adult she claimed to be despite the wounds, tubes, and filth. Screw him for marching in her room all big and muscly and capable of taking on the damn world while she lay there weak, uncomfortable, and heartsick.
Thankfully, the pain medication had dulled the worst of the discomfort to an annoying throb, but it also made her head foggy and had her riding an emotional fine line.
Her kennel was gone. What she’d worked so hard to achieve burned up in a matter of minutes. It hurt so much more than the burns on her hands, knees, and arms. And that was saying something because those hurt like a sonofabitch. She’d hit her mental limit. If only she could curl into a ball, squeeze her eyes shut, and wake up to two weeks ago before she’d so stupidly antagonized Prick. To top off the horrible night, the one person she’d been dying to see since she arrived at the hospital stormed in spewing judgment and without so much as asking how she felt.
God, she was going to cry again and humiliate herself further. How could she convince him she didn’t need someone managing her when she broke down every time life got bumpy?
“You call this handling it?” he asked, waving toward her bed. “For real?”
Agitation rolled off him in palpable waves.
Brooke narrowed her eyes. “Obviously this is an extenuating circumstance.”
With a snort, he said, “Obviously.” Then he returned to the end of her bed, glaring at her while he gripped the footboard. “Do you not see the problem here, Brooke?”
“I’m not blind.” She coughed as she’d been doing ever since the fire. “I realize Prick is a huge problem.”
“Jesus Christ.” Curly threw his hands in the air. “I’m talking about the problem with you. How your stupid need to be independent no matter what nearly cost you and the dogs your goddammed lives!” He said the word independent as though it scored his tongue.
The words were a direct hit. They stole her breath. Brooke blinked her eyes as fast as possible to keep the tears from rushing forward. She loved those dogs with all her heart, and the thought that her actions could have placed them in harm’s way gutted her.
“This is exactly the reason I chose to live without a man,” she said, waving a bandaged hand in his direction. “All you assholes do is pass judgment and call me stupid. I lived through ten years of that garbage from my good-for-nothing-husband. I will not tolerate it from you or anyone ever again.” Another fit of coughing seized her. Damnit, she couldn’t even reach for the cup of water because of her stupid hands.
A straw appeared at her lips. For just one juvenile second, Brooke considered turning her head. But she was insanely thirsty and not a masochist, so she sipped the water. “Thanks,” she mumbled, casting a glance at his face.
Yikes, he is mad.
The glare he leveled her with would have sent her running if she wasn’t attached to so many damn machines, and if she wasn’t a hundred percent certain he wouldn’t kill her as his scowl suggested.
“I didn’t call you stupid, Brooke,” he said in a deadly calm tone. “I called your inability to admit you can’t do everything alone stupid. You aren’t a goddammed miracle worker. None of us are. What the fuck do you think MC life is all about? It’s about brotherhood. Fucking family. Because we’re all smart enough to realize that sometimes we fucking need other people to help us handle our shit.”
“I had it under control,” she said through clenched teeth though as soon as the words left her mouth, she realized the absurdity of sticking to that story. Her kennel was gone, the dogs had nowhere to go, and she was injured.
Why was she still clinging to the idiotic notion she’d been right in keeping the information from Curly? Why couldn’t she just admit she’d been terrified tonight and wished to hell he’d been there? Why couldn’t she tell him she wanted to go back in time and show him the very first note five seconds after she got it?
Because still, after he saved her life and her dog’s life, she was afraid of losing herself.
“You know what?” he asked as he pushed off the bed. “I’ve got shit to do tonight. Someone I know is in hot water over their head and needs a life raft. Now, it’s my turn to handle their shit. Why don’t you give me a call if you ever pull your head out of your ass?”
