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Win looked over his shoulder, taking in my unclothed frame. “Put some clothes on, huh? People don’t need to see all this.”
My heart pinched, and I marveled that I could feel the little pang at all considering the rest of the aches in my body. But I did. I also felt ashamed that it was so obvious to me how weak I probably looked to all of them. How beaten.
Win’s probably embarrassed too.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, voice wet. Clutching the cups, I moved toward the bed where I’d sat to be stitched up, the gown I was wearing laying across it. I reached for it, but Max appeared, the scent of leather wafting off him.
“Wes had extra clothes in the car. I brought them in for you,” he told me, holding out a gym bag. In our haste to flee the airport, my suitcase had been forgotten.
I stared at the bag long enough that Max said, “You need me to help you get dressed?”
Win growled, “If anyone helps him, it will be me.”
Max glanced at me and winked. “Bathroom’s over there.” He pointed.
“I’m bringing my coffees,” I announced.
“No one would dare tell you no, angel,” Win said, taking the bag from Max and gesturing for me to go ahead of him.
“You’re coming too?” I asked.
“Where you go, I go.” His voice was soft, for my ears only.
“There’s clothes in there for you too,” Max called.
The light in the bathroom flickered on with my movement, and I went to the sink, setting down the drinks after another sip. Or two. There was a large mirror on the wall, but I avoided looking in it, not ready to see just how bad I looked. Just how bad everyone else saw me look.
The door latched quietly, and the duffle hit the floor with a muffled thump.
The silence in the room was palpable and awkward.
“There’s something I need to make clear,” Win said, obliterating all of it with the strength of his voice.
My fingers gripped the edge of the counter as I stared at the drain in the center of the sink. “Go ahead.”
“Iabhorrently hatethe bruises, swelling, and fucking fingerprints on your body. The fact that you have stitches from someone literally chewing on your skin makes me regret not killing him right there.”
I started to shake, my fingers turning white against the pressure I used to grip the counter. “I’m sorry, I—”
“Stop fucking apologizing!” he yelled.
I flinched.
A slew of whispered curse words filled the tiny bathroom.
The door opened, and Max’s dark head poked through the crack. “Everything okay?”
“Fucking gumdrops and unicorns,” Win muttered.
“Lars?”
Win snarled, “Get out.”
“I don’t like your tone,” Max countered, almost bored.
“Yeah? Well, I don’t like that someone has been beating on him and he thinks he has to apologize for it!”
“What?” I whispered, eyes lifting to Win.
