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I fear that this might be bordering on that, though.
“I shot him,” I finally confess.
“Jesus Christ, T. You shot a fucking Wolf?”
“I grazed her too.” Guilt floods through my veins that I physically hurt her. That I made her bleed, and not with her begging me for it while she was dripping for my cock.
No. She was fucking wet for himinstead.
The roar that rips from my throat and echoes through the solitude around us doesn’t sound like it belongs to me. And if it weren’t for the agonising pain in my chest that accompanies it, then I wouldn’t believe it was.
“You were going to Mum?” Alex guesses.
“It wasn’t bad, but fuck. She was fucking bleeding, and she was tripping on acid and fuck knows what else he’d given her.”
He stares at me for a second, sympathy oozing from him, but there’s no way he can comprehend how I’m feeling right now. How much I despise myself for what I’ve done. Even if some of it was out of my control.
I’m meant to be looking after her.
I’m meant to protect her.
We may never have said our vows, but I’ll be fucked if I’m not going to uphold them anyway.
She’s my girl. My wife.
My world. My everything.
Even if she doesn’t want it.
“Come on,” he says, taking a step toward me and throwing his arm around my shoulder, making me wince in pain once more. “You need patching up. You’ve probably got a concussion too.”
“I’m fine,” I argue, although I know it’s a lie. I hurt like fuck and I can’t ignore the blood that’s trickling down the side of my face and dripping from my chin.
“Sure you are, boss,” he mutters, but I don’t miss the mocking in his tone. “Did you warn Mum you were about to drop in on her?”
“No,” I confess, falling into his passenger seat without any argument.
“We’ll call her on the way. I think that’s going to need stitches.”
* * *
“Oh my God,” Gianna gasps when she meets us out the front of her house.
Alex had explained what the problem was as we drove here, but I don’t think she really appreciated the state I was in. And as the minutes have passed, I’m finding it harder and harder to deny that I am actually okay.
Every time I move my head, a pain shoots down my neck, and my back hurts, but neither of those is anything compared to my head that’s still streaming with blood. My grey hoodie is wrecked, as is Alex’s passenger seat—not that he’s complained about it yet. Can’t say I’d have kept my mouth shut if the situation were reversed, mind you.
“I’m fine,” I insist, but from the hard stare I get in return, I know I’m not fooling anyone.
“Alex, go to the bathroom. I’m going to need my kit from under the basin. And grab him a fresh set of clothes.”
“You got it,” he says, saluting her before moving into the house.
Her lips part, and I can already predict what she’s going to say. She’s patched us all up enough times that I can read her thoughts.
“You should—”
“I’m not going to the hospital, G. It’s just not happening. Patch me up, then I need to get back to business.”
