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“No.”
“You should sleep,” he said. “You were up all night as well.”
“I’m not injured and I’m not on painkillers. I’ll sleep later.”
Baxter nodded. He was silent for a minute. “Do you think I should have let go of him?”
“Yes,” I said honestly and with less hesitation than was probably warranted for such an ethical dilemma. I sighed. “But also, no.”
Baxter laughed. “Thanks for clearing that up.”
I sat on the edge of the bed, reaching for his hand and entwining our fingers. “Yes, because he deserved it. For what he did to you. For what he did to Jamie. For what he would have done to you on that roof if he’d gotten his way. Hell, for what he did to his parents.”
“They were abusive,” Baxter said.
“You’re defending him?”
“I’m just pointing out that unless you’ve been there, you can’t honestly say you wouldn’t do the same. They damaged him. They made him what he is.” He softened his words by squeezing my hand. “And the no?”
“I’m glad you don’t have to live with the responsibility of someone’s death. It wouldn’t have been your fault, but I suspect you would have still felt partially to blame.”
“I would have,” Baxter agreed. “It was why I held on for so long.” He shook his head, his expression saying he was back on the roof. “I was down to seconds. He was slipping… And the pain. If they hadn’t arrived when they had.”
“Then he’d be dead,” I said. “And it wouldn’t be your fault. Instead, he gets to face justice for the attempted murder of Jamie. And hopefully his parents too. It’s crazy that they can’t charge him for what he did to you.”
“I’m alive,” Baxter said. “How do you convict someone of murder when the victim is alive? It would confuse the hell out of a jury.”
“I guess. It doesn’t seem fair, though. Not when you’ve been through so much and you’ve lost nineteen years of your life.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?” I questioned, genuinely curious how Baxter could be so casual about something so monumental.
“The things that happen shape you. I wouldn’t be the person I am today without everything that happened.” He held my gaze. “I wouldn’t have met you.” The heat in his eyes suggested doing something far more interesting than talking.
I shook my head. “Oh no, you don’t. You’re tired, injured, and you’ve had one hell of a night. Now is not the time to—”
“You could kiss me better.”
“Baxter.”
“Lake.” He grinned wickedly. “I have sore spots.”
“Of course you do. You nearly fell off a roof.”
“Those sore spots need attention.”
“I’ll call a doctor.”
“I want you to be the doctor.”
“Kinky. I didn’t know you were into medical role-play.” With every word I spoke, my voice grew huskier. I was fighting a battle I would never win.
“Come here.”
“I’m already here.”
Baxter rolled his eyes. “Here here.”
