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I made it about five minutes like that before my inner bitch demanded I get my shit together. It was okay to breakdown, but it wasn’t okay to stay broken.
After a quick wash with a rough cloth and soap that smelled like a mountain forest—pine needles and cold rain—I forced myself out of the tub. I dried off with the surprisingly feminine fluffy towel and wrapped it around myself before heading back to the bed.
Every independent instinct in me told me not to touch the clothes, not to accept any offer of kindness from the crooked captain and his cronies, but who was I kidding? I’d caved the moment I dipped a toe in the bath.
“Down the rabbit hole we go,” I muttered, letting the towel drop to the floor.
The sleep shirt and pants weren’t just comfortable, they were next level divine. A little big, yeah, but I’d never owned anything so silky soft. I ran my hands over the fabric slinking down my hips and moaned. If I made it back home, I was so saving my money and buying something like that to sleep in.
Home. The thought was a shot of cold water, stealing my moment of luxury from beneath my tired feet. I wouldn’t leave without Matty, but I had no idea how I could convince him to come with me if he couldn’t see or hear me. I wanted to pace and try to work out a plan, but my ankle was swollen to the size of a freaking grapefruit and demanding elevation.
I situated myself on the bed, which took forever with the vicious knot on the back of my head, my definitely bruised and possibly cracked ribs, and my throbbing ankle. In the end, I settled for laying on my side with my leg propped up by all but one of Hook’s pillows. Once I was reasonably comfortable, I realized I was still on top of the covers.
“Fuck it.” I was too tired to go through all that again just so I could slip under the blanket. If I got cold in the middle of the night, I’d deal with it then. It was officially a future-Never problem.
The clock, the one I had yet to see resting on a shelf or hanging on a wall, ticked away quietly, marking each and every second of wasted time. I knew I couldn’t do much to rescue Matty right then, not in the dark and not in the state I was in, but that didn’t stop a bolt of guilt from sinking into my chest.
Goddess, I couldn’t cry again. I would not let myself cry again. One breakdown, that was all I got.
I pinched my eyes clothes and buried my face in the pillow, holding my breath until my lungs ached and screamed for air. When I let it out in a huff and drew in another, Hook’s masculine scent filled my senses. It was a mix of his foresty soap and him, saltwater and sunshine. Without thinking about it, I sank deeper into his pillow and his scent, breathing it in, letting it warm me from the inside and soothe my frayed edges.
After a few more breaths, most of the tension drained from my tired body, and after a few more, I was floating on a blissfully soft black cloud in an ocean of darkness.
32
HOOK
Impatience nearly got the better of me as I all but snatched the tray of food from Cook’s hands. “Thank you,” I said, trying for a grateful tone even though I was feeling less than generous. The way he took a step back and nodded told me I’d failed in that attempt.
The man was one hell of a cook and loyal as they came, but some days his perfectionism in the kitchen went too far. He wanted to create a memorable meal for Never, which was a wonderful notion, but tonight was not the night for finery. She was injured and tired, and I just wanted to make sure she got something in her system before she fell asleep.
She already thought I was an asshole. A fact every man on my ship now knew based on the muffled laughter that echoed across the deck in the wake of Never’s earlier rant. Dinner wouldn’t make up for my misstep when we’d made it back here, and that was fine. I was just hoping it would at least get me a foot in the door.
Hope.
I hesitated outside my own bedroom, tripping over the thought. I hadn’t hoped for anything in so long. It was a strange feeling to experience again, like a flurry of tiny butterflies dancing across my skin, willing me to take flight with them.
“This woman is going to ruin me,” I muttered under my breath before I balanced the tray on one hand, slipped the key in the lock, and opened the door.
Remembering how it had gone the last time I’d locked her in, I let the door swing open but kept my feet firmly planted. No matter how repentant I felt, I had no interest in taking a shot to the head with another piece of furniture.
When I spotted her curled on her side on my bed, a mixture of pleasure and disappointment seeped through my veins. I’d been hoping to talk with her, to explain my earlier actions, but it looked like that apology would need to wait. Along with her dinner.
I set the tray on the table and moved closer, taking in the sight of her in my bed. There was no logical reason why seeing her in my clothes should have brought me anything resembling joy, let alone have an erotic effect on me. Oh, but it did.
Her bright red hair was mostly hidden, swept up in the towel wrapped loosely around her head. She looked peaceful. Beautiful. It wasn’t until my gaze trailed along her body, tracing the curve of her hips and thighs down, that I saw the reason for the array of pillows scattered on the floor at the foot of the bed.
A twinge of guilt burrowed in my chest at the sight of her ankle. The joint was an ugly, swollen mess of discolored flesh that blended sickeningly into the scarlet duvet.
No wonder she thought I was an asshole.
I circled around to the end of the bed, sinking to my knees so I could examine the damage more closely. Eggplant-tinted pools of trapped blood darkened the sole and outer edge of her foot, lightening in color as the bruising moved up her leg. I carefully plucked the edge of the soft pant leg and slid it up. The visible damage tapered and faded as I pulled the fabric past her calf, thankfully, but it still stretched to mid-shin.
It was the kind of injury that would hobble a human for weeks, maybe months if they didn’t care for it properly. And all she’d done was wince and glare at me when I’d so callously forced her to put weight on it.
Drawing in a deep breath, in a useless effort to relieve the tightness in my chest, I laid my hand gently over the worst of the puffy, mottled joint and searched internally for that guiding thread of my power. Less than a heartbeat. It wasn’t just there, it was waiting, reaching back out and demanding to be put to use.
I let it melt out of my palm and into her skin, bleeding deep into her flesh, fanning out around the torn and inflamed connective tissue below. After a moment, tension crept into my hand in a familiar warning—recently familiar and long forgotten all at the same time—and I pulled back, taking a minute to breathe and control the flow.
