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A gunshot wound.
Judging by the almost skin tone color, not a new one.
“Jesus Christ, Seeley,” I hissed, my voice tight because my breath felt stuck in my chest.
“What?” he asked, turning quickly, then wincing hard as his wounds sent pain shooting through his system.
“You were shot.”
“Yeah. Long while ago now,” he said, actually having the nerve to shrug it off.
“It just missed your lung,” I insisted.
“It was my shoulder.”
“You could have died.”
“I could die each time I get on my bike.”
“Yes, well, you know what they call bikers…” I said, waving a hand out.
“Organ donors,” he filled in.
“Exactly. Between the guns and the bikes and the smoking, it is a miracle you are still alive.”
“And that’s not even half of it,” he agreed.
This time, it was my jaw getting tight.
Because he just… didn’t give a shit, damnit. He didn’t seem to care at all how fragile and fleeting his life could be, and all the people he would leave behind.
“Why the sad eyes, Ama?” Seeley asked, gaze watching my face. “Wouldn’t it just serve me right to die an early death? You’ve warned me plenty of times about it.”
“Do you think I would be, what, happy about it?” I asked. “Or that I would somehow rejoice that I was right after all? Is that really what you think about me? Wow,” I said. “I must be a giant bitch,” I added, turning to walk away, but finding my wrist snagged in his strong hand.
“I never said that,” he insisted, his voice a cool balm over a burn. “I would never say that,” he added as I tried to ignore how his thumb was gently sliding up and down my wrist. “You know me better than that, Ama,” he said.
“I don’t know you at all anymore,” I objected. Because, at that moment, being snippy was the only thing keeping me from melting into a puddle.
“Bullshit,” he said, but there was no heat in his words. There never were. At least… not when he was speaking to me. “You know that I would never talk shit about you. Fucking never. I have too much respect for you to do that shit. And under all that disappointment you feel about me, I know you know that about me.”
“Let me go, Seeley,” I said, trying for firm, but I was pretty sure it sounded desperate instead.
“Look at me first,” he countered, making me realize my gaze had been averted the whole time, like some part of me knew eye contact was dangerous right then. Because that strange buzzing sensation I was feeling? Yeah, it wasn’t annoyance or disappointment. It wasn’t even the bitterness I wanted so badly to shake with absolutely no luck.
No.
It was a lot less rational than all those things.
It was need.
And it had to stop.
Taking a deep breath, my head raised, my eyes finding his immediately.
“I never have, and I never fucking will, think you’re a bitch, Ama. Not even when you’re giving me shit. Because I know that if it is coming from you, I probably need to hear it.”
“You do,” I said, because it was the only thing that came to my mind as a weird, warm sensation moved across my chest. Like a flush. But internal. “Need to hear it,” I added. “Let me clean this wound,” I said, pulling away.
