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I’m wearing a black tank and boy shorts underwear. There are white patches scattered up the left side of my body, and I’m too afraid to move again for fear of the agony that will go shooting through every part of me.
“I’m fine,” I grumble. Heat climbs up my throat toward my face, and I know I’m turning a bright shade of red.
Hunter slides out of the bed, pulling on a white shirt. My eyes are drawn to the way his muscles shift and flex with his movements as he comes to my side.
“What do you need?” His hands rub down his black jeans. There’s worry etched on his face as his eyes move along my half-covered body.
I raise my left arm, not thinking, and a stabbing pain shoots up my arm. I can’t help but cry out, bringing it up to rest it across my chest.
“Maybe avoid lifting that arm. You were shot in the shoulder.”
I frown. Shot?
“What happened to me?” I close my eyes, trying to remember exactly what happened.
“Now’s not the time to talk about it. You need to rest and heal before we discuss anything. What do you need?” Frustration slides off his tongue with each word spoken.
I stare at him. If I could shoot daggers with my eyes, he’d be dead. “The bathroom.”
Without another word, he pulls the sheet off me, and I catch his twitching jaw muscle again. Gently, he slides his hands underneath me, and my good arm wraps around his shoulders. Hunter pulls me against his body, and I revel in his calmness.
We get to the toilet, and he places me on my feet. I wobble slightly, but his arms quickly wrap around me to steady me. “Will you be all right?” He glances down at me with a hunger in his eyes, our bodies pressing firmly against each other.
I swallow and nod, keeping my left arm to my chest, the throbbing continuing. “Do you have a sling or something for my arm? It’s hurting like crazy.” The pain is unbearable, but I don’t want to let Hunter know.
“May has one. I’ll go grab it.” Slowly, he loosens the pressure of his hold. The warmth from his arms disappears, and I’m left standing on my own. A biting chill fills my body from my toes to the top of my head, along with a lonely feeling I’ve felt plenty of times.
Hunter walks out and closes the door behind him, and I can’t hold it in anymore. Tears flood my eyes. My body feels as though it’s been torn to shreds by knives. With my good arm, I push my underwear down and ever-so-slowly place myself on the toilet seat.
When I finish, I awkwardly wipe and tug my underwear back up, then slowly walk to the basin and wash my hands. Looking up, I’m shocked by the reflection staring back at me. One of my cheeks is colored with purple bruising mixed with healing scratches, and above my eyebrow, butterfly Band-Aids hold a cut together. My fingers slide over the bruise and hover over the bandage.
Miles, my brother, did this.
Everything comes flooding back as soon as I think his name. The gunshot. Running for my life. Hunter finding me in the bushes. My body trembles at the thought of nearly dying once again.
The bathroom door slowly opens, and my heart races. I stumble slightly, but Hunter is at my side, steadying me within seconds. “I’ve got you,” he whispers against my damp cheek.
Leaning back, I stare into those haunting eyes. “It was Miles.”
He simply nods, his mouth pursed.
I can see Miles’ face, that daunting black stare boring a hole into my soul. There was so much venom and hate in how he spoke to me.
He wanted me dead.
“Is he...dead?” I choke on the last word. My right hand grips Hunter’s shirt so tightly my nails are pressing into my skin through the fabric.
“Here, let’s get you back to bed. May is bringing you some soup if you’re up for it.”
Just the mention of food has my stomach grumbling loudly.
Hunter smiles. “Well, I think that solves that. Come here.” Again, he scoops me up and carries me back to bed, where he’s propped some pillows to help me sit up.
After he places me in bed, he turns to leave, but I reach out and take his hand. His grip tightens on mine, and my chest tightens with affection. “Please don’t leave me,” I say, staring up at him with pleading eyes. I don’t want to be alone. The last time he left me, I became the hunted.
Turning back toward me, he squeezes my hand. “I’m not leaving. I’ve just got a phone call to make, and then I’ll be back. I’ll be right out there.” He points to the patio, leans over, and presses his lips to my hair. “I’ll never let you out of my sight again.”
I begrudgingly release his hand, and my eyes follow him out of the room onto the patio.
