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“Four,” he grumbled.
Probably more like a nine, then. She shook her head. Stupid macho men.
“If I had known you wanted to play nurse and patient, I wouldn’t have bothered with the hike. I can do role play.” He winked.
A crack in his façade, his words pierced her heart nonetheless. Was he trying to cheapen their experiences? Those moments where his kind heart had shone through—was she supposed to believe they were all because he wanted to sleep with her? No, it was his brass reminder of where the lines were drawn between them. Bently was scrambling to find anything to distance her from him. As if she couldn’t see how utterly shattered he was. Whatever he kept buried was eating him alive.
“Should I call your brother?” she asked.
“Nah. Don’t want to wake the kids and Remy.”
So that meant Jasmine was out too. “How about Andre?”
Bently shook his head and grimaced. “He and Mia are in California.”
“Okay, who should I call to come get you, then?”
“I’ll be fine on my own. I’ll get a taxi or something,” he grumbled.
“You can’t go home alone with a concussion.” She could help him. She might be the only one who could. He’d spent his life protecting others, but who protected him? If this man thought he could push her away when he needed her most, he had another thing coming. After all, what were friends for?
Chapter 21
Bently
His head pounded like someone had put a jackhammer to it. The lights had been dimmed in Bently’s hospital room, and the meds had kicked in somewhat, but it wasn’t enough. He tried to sleep, but then he’d catch a whiff of her cocoa butter while she quietly checked his vitals or whatever the hell it was nurses did every hour. He could sense her nearness as she made her rounds through the emergency department like they had some sort of string tethering them together.
Now she’s seen me at my fucking lowest.
She’d run, taking the choice he’d been struggling with away from him. He was powerless again. He’d been helpless when that person had beaten him, leaving him for dead. Why had he drunk so much?
Because I’m weak. I’m like him.
He was angry at himself for his lapse in judgment, lack of control. Furious with the man who’d jumped him. Was it the same one who’d smashed his windshield? His chest ached as he tried to suck in a tormented gulp of oxygen. The heavy weight on his chest made it impossible. He just wanted to escape. Needed to let this pain out before he burst. He grasped for some semblance of control as his world spun out of order. The craving to run away was like acid on his frayed nerves. It was all he could think about.
The machine next to him started beeping, aggravating his headache like tiny spears. Pain radiated and throbbed from his forehead to his neck.
Soft cool hands touched his. “It’s okay, Bently. Just take deep breaths. In for four seconds, and out for four.”
He tried to do as she said. The angel to his darkness. His guiding light. Everything hurt, but the ache in his chest overpowered them all. Belle had seen his charts—she’d know what cancer he’d had and the fact that he was now infertile. She’d have seen the X-rays, the record of years of abuse in black and white.
“How’s our patient, Belle?” Doctor Stanley asked.
Bently opened his eyes, not wanting anyone else to see him in such a state. He shoved it all down like he’d always done. “Ready to go home, Doc.”
The doctor nodded. “That’s why I’m here. Belle has the paperwork about concussion care and for your stitches. I’ll send you with a pain script, but as I said, you’ll need someone to stay with you around the clock for at least forty-eight hours, longer if possible.”
“No worries,” Bently said.
“You might be nauseous for a while. The headache could last for a week or so. You feel funny or get concerned, you come right back here. Okay?” Doctor Stanley asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Alright, then. You’re good to go. Did you have someone waiting to pick you up?” he asked.
“I took care of it,” Belle interjected.
Stanley looked at Belle. His expression softened. “Of course. I never doubted your capable hands for a moment.”
