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“Motherfucker,” he roars before walking to the kitchen and returning moments later with a bag of frozen peas. “Here, put this on your face,” he instructs. I take the peas from his hand and hold them against my face, wincing with pain. Micky heads out to the bar, and just when I think I’m going to pass out, he returns with a first aid kit and a bottle of water. “I’ll get you cleaned up, but then you are Charli’s problem.”
“No, don’t wake her,” I tell him as he starts cleaning up my wounds.
“Don’t fucking argue with me, kid,” he scolds. “I’m not playing nurse all night, and believe me, from the look of you, you’re going to need one.”
Damn, he has a point. “Fine,” I grunt.
Gripping my shirt, I peel it off so we can see the extent of the damage, and every little movement leaves me in agony. Micky cringes, spying my ribs, but he’s determined to get this over and done with.
It doesn’t take him long to clean me up, but despite his best efforts, I’m still going to need a shower to wash off the dried blood. Micky gets up and makes his way out of his office, and assuming he’s done, I get up and try to figure out where I’m supposed to go from here.
As I painstakingly make my way back out into the bar, I hear Micky’s gruff voice coming from upstairs and groan before hearing Charli on the stairs, knowing what she’s about to see. Hell, if I could have gotten upstairs and showered first, then it wouldn’t look nearly so bad.
Charli barrels through the door and skids to a stop, finding me barely holding myself up against the bar. “Fuck,” she cries as she takes me in and rushes toward me, her eyes already filled with tears. She stops herself before she actually touches me, but I see the need to reach out in her eyes. “Are you okay?” she asks, her gaze sailing over my body, cataloging my injuries and trying to figure out just how badly I’m hurt.
I take her hand in mine. “I’m fine. It looks worse than it is.”
“Bullshit,” Micky grunts to himself. I give him a hard stare and he pulls his phone out of his pocket before pressing it into my hand. “I’m going to give you two some privacy,” he states. “You’ll need to call your bank and cancel your credit cards before the fucker can do anymore damage. Then be sure to call the cops and report your truck stolen.”
I nod, glad to have a guy like Micky looking out for me. After everything that’s happened tonight, canceling my credit cards was the last thing on my mind. The door clicks gently behind Micky as he leaves us in a heavy silence.
Charli carefully wraps her arm around my waist and helps me up the stairs to her apartment, taking it slow while making me feel like a fucking loser. I hate being cared for; it makes me feel weak. I should be the one taking care of her. “You take my bed tonight,” Charli tells me. “I don’t want to roll into you while I sleep.”
I give her the same hard stare I gave Micky not five minutes ago. “The last thing I want is for you to be out on the couch.”
She looks at me like she’s preparing to put up more of a fight, but I stare her down. She knows a losing battle when she sees one and reluctantly gives in, though I see the irritation in her eyes. Getting into her apartment, I take a seat on the couch while Charli heads into the kitchen to find some painkillers.
Pulling out Micky’s phone, I let out a sigh as I dial my father’s number.
“Hello,” the prick answers, clearly pissed off at being disturbed in the middle of the night. I can’t blame him, though. I would be, too.
“Dad, it’s me,” I say as I hear my mother in the background questing who it is.
“Xander? Why are you calling so late?” he questions before he sighs. “What kind of trouble are you in now?”
I roll my eyes at his attitude and let out a sigh of my own. “No trouble, Dad. The boys and I went out to celebrate after the game. I was mugged by four guys on my way home. Took my truck, wallet, and phone.”
“Shit,” he grunts. I can just imagine him, sitting up on the edge of his bed, elbows braced against his knees while he rubs his eyes in annoyance.
“My bank card for my trust was in my wallet,” I explain.
“Right,” he says, instantly getting where I’m going with this. “I’ll call the bank now,” he says, taking on his usual businesslike tone. You can always rely on my father to look out for his money. “What about the truck?”
