"Yeah," I say, grabbing a towel to wrap my foot in it, trying to close off my head. I apply pressure to it and then unwrap it and see it is sliced right through. "It went right through!” I shout, looking down at the red line straight down the bottom of my foot. Little droplets of blood are starting to come out.
"Do you need stitches?" he shouts, and I take a look at it.
"I think I’ll just need to bandage it," I tell him, wrapping the towel around it and applying pressure, hoping to stop the bleeding. Swinging my feet out of the tub, I get up, placing all the pressure on the heel of my foot as I walk back into the room. "I need shoes," I say to him, avoiding his eyes. I slip my feet into my surgical Crocs.
I close my eyes and swallow down the lump in my throat. Taking a deep breath, I go back into the room. "Okay." I look at him, stopping in my tracks. His shirt is already off, and he is taking off his own bandage. "What do we have there?" I say once I’m beside his bed, looking down to see that the stitches are still there but not sure they are all there.
"Nothing," he says. "I’m fine."
"Let me clean it and make sure you didn’t pop a stitch," I say, walking over to the bathroom. The sting of my foot hits me, and I know I should check it out and make sure it doesn’t get infected. He lets me clean it without saying anything to me. His head lies back on the pillows, and his eyes close. After I clean the blood off, I see he isn’t bleeding anymore. "All stitches accounted for." I smile, but he doesn’t look at me. "Must have just irritated them when you fell off the bed," I say, and he just nods his head. "Why didn’t you call me?" I look at him, and he shakes his head.
"It was nothing," he tells me, his voice tight. I look over at him, and I know he’s lying. I know that it was something. I see the fear in his eyes as he looks at me and then back out the window.
"I don’t think you ending up face-first on the floor is nothing," I tell him, turning and walking back into the hall closet to grab a broom. I walk back into the room, ignoring his eyes on me. "Should I call Ethan?" I ask, not looking at him as I sweep up the broken glass.
"I’m fine," he says. "I’ll pay you back for the lamp," he says, and I laugh out bitterly now.
"I don’t want your money," I tell him, turning and walking to the kitchen and dumping the broken glass into the garbage. I put the broom away and walk back to the bedroom. I find him with his head back on the pillows as he looks up at the ceiling. "Do you need anything else?" I ask him and he turns his face to look at me. The fear is all over it.
"What the hell were you thinking?” he says, and I just look at him confused.
"I’m sorry?" I say. Obviously, I’ve misheard him. Surely, he’s not coming at me with this attitude.
"Running in here like a bat out of hell." His eyes fly to mine. "Without thinking twice about it. Coming in here half naked." His words cut me to the core.
I stand straight now, looking at him as he stares at me with his eyes dead. There is nothing in them anymore. It’s like a switch went out in them. "I was sleeping after being awoken and scared shitless,” I tell him, trying to keep my calm instead of really showing him what a bat out of hell looks like. A draft of cold air runs through me, and I can feel the goose bumps all over my bare arms and legs. "When you decided you were too macho to ask for help when you tried to grab a glass of water." His eyes never leave mine. "So excuse me for not grabbing my robe on my way here." I advance on him one more step. "The only thing that went through my head was getting to you in case…"
"In case what?" he says, his voice soft. "In case my father came and finished the job?" He laughs.
I shake my head. "I’m not going to be the one you take your shit out on." My calm leaving me like the air leaves a balloon. "I’ve bent over fucking backward for you. I’ve done shit that I was not comfortable with, and I did them for you." I point at him. "So spin that while you're on your high horse," I say, turning and walking out of the room. Not even caring anymore. I walk to my room and slam the door behind me just to show him. "Asshole."
I walk to my bathroom, kicking off my shoe and seeing the towel soaked in blood. "Shit," I hiss out, walking over to grab the first aid kit from the drawer. The anger in me is making me ignore the pain shooting through me.
My mind replays the scene as I grab the glue. Once I glue the cut back together, I place a bandage on it. Washing off my hands, I walk out of the bathroom, not putting all my pressure on my foot.
I walk toward the bed and then turn suddenly, going to check on him. I try not to make any noise. The hallway is dark, and when I get closer to his bedroom, I see the light is off also. I stand here at the doorway, looking in at him.
His head turns, looking in my direction. "I’m sorry, Chelsea," he says softly and doesn’t wait for me to say anything. Instead, he turns his head toward the window. "Good night."
"Good night," I say, turning and walking back to my room. I slip into bed, turning on my side and I watch the darkness become light before my eyes slip closed.
When I wake up the next morning, my bedroom door is closed, and I panic that I missed something. I grab my robe and walk out of the room, but the stinging of my foot makes me stop as Ethan walks out of Mayson’s room.
"Is there a reason your gun is in his room?" He puts his arms over his chest. "Actually," he says, "maybe you should tell me why you didn’t call me before you went running into his room."
I glare at him. "Which question do you want answered first?" I fold my hands over my chest, and now he glares back at me.
He doesn't say anything as he looks at me , "What happened to your foot?"
"That’s three questions," I tell him, "and I need coffee." I ignore him and hobble over to the coffee machine. I look over and see that it’s already noon. "What time did you get here?"
"Eight," he says. "You were passed out snoring, so I closed your door."
"I didn’t hear you." I grab the cup of coffee and bring it to my lips.
"So let’s hear it," he says, ignoring what I just said.
"What is there to say? I heard crashing in the middle of the night, and when I ran to make sure he was okay, I sliced my foot." I hobble over to one of the stools.
"From what Mayson said…" he says, and I pfft out.
"From what Mayson said what?" I ask him. "If you don’t like it, take him and leave." He just looks at me. "If I’m doing something you don't approve of, you are more than welcome to take him and bring him to your house." I ignore the pounding in my chest and the burning in my stomach, thinking of him being anywhere else without me being able to make sure he is okay. "But if you are going to leave him here, you are going to do it with my rules."
"And what are those?" He leans back on the counter, crossing his feet at his ankles.
"One, what I do and when I do it, shouldn’t be questioned,” I say. "I am not going to tiptoe around. This is my house. I did what needed to be done at the moment."
"You could have been hurt," he points out.
"And he could have been dead," I counter at him. "But I’m not, and neither is he."
"But you’re hurt," he says, and I roll my eyes.
"It’s a cut," I tell him, not even going to mention I had to glue the cut back together.
"You should have called," he tells me.
"What would you have done?" I ask and don’t give him a chance to say anything else. "Raced over here for nothing. If there was any danger, they would have seen it." I mention the cameras. "Now, if you’ll excuse me," I say, getting up. "I have been craving biscuits and gravy." I walk back toward my bedroom, ignoring the pull to check on him.
Chapter 11
Mayson
I listen to the conversation taking place in the kitchen as I try to forget about what a dick I was to her last night. She rushed in here to save me, and all I could do was get my pride hurt and yell at her. It wasn’t my finest moment, especially since she was standing there bleeding. Instead of burying the anger, I just came at her.
"I have been craving b
iscuits and gravy," I hear her say and then hear her bedroom door slam again. She seems to be doing that a lot since I got here.
I hear his footsteps coming back toward my bedroom, and when Ethan walks in with his head shaking, I am rolling my lips, trying not to laugh. "Well, looks like you sure took care of that," I tell him, and he just glares at me.
"What got her panties in a twist? Who pissed her off?" Ethan says, looking at me, sitting down in the same chair he did this morning when he walked in. He stood there in the middle of the room and watched me walk back to the bed, never once asking me if I needed help.
When I woke up this morning, my eyes flew around the room, making sure everything was where it should be. I took my time sitting up and trying to breathe through the pain. It was shooting right up my side. I slung my legs out of bed and tried standing up. It took me over an hour to get to the bathroom. My body shook once I got there. I sat on the toilet with my eyes focused on the tub, seeing the spots of dried blood on the side. Anger filled me for so many different reasons. Reasons I don’t want to think about.
"You pissed her off," Ethan says, and I just laugh now. His foot goes up and down.
"I might have pissed her off,” I agree to that. "But from the sounds of it, you pissed her off by not asking her nicely." I point at him, and I don’t say anything else because she comes into the room.
Today, she’s wearing black tights with a white shirt that shows off a little of her toned stomach. "Good morning," she says, tying her blond hair on top of her head. I look down and see she has a white bandage around her foot.
"Morning." I smile at her, and she comes in. "How is the foot?" I ask her, and she looks down at it.
"I’ve had worse injuries," she says, looking at Ethan. "How are the wounds?” She looks at the bandages now. “Any bleeding?"
"No," I say, moving the covers down so she can see the clean bandage.
"Perfect." She looks around. "So today would be a good day to get out of bed." She smiles, and it lights up her whole face. It’s carefree and fucking perfect. "Ethan." She looks over at him. "Why don’t you help him to the couch, and I might share breakfast with you?" Then she turns to me. “Sorry, no biscuits and gravy for you. It’s a liquid diet for the next couple of days.”
"It’s lunchtime," he tells her, not even getting up to help. "And he can get himself to the couch. He doesn’t need anyone to baby him."
"I forgot you guys are big strong men. Shall I go outside and bring in some dirt so you can rub yourself with it?" She points with her thumb over her shoulder.
She walks out of the room, and I look over at Ethan. "How good of a shot is she?"
He gets up from the chair. "Better than me," he tells me, and my eyes open wide. He’s one of the best shots I’ve ever seen in my life. "We did a one-on-one when I got back. Brought out the cans from the barn. Lined them up. Two cans, different areas. First one to turn and shoot wins. She got it in point four seconds." I raise an eye. "Took me point two seconds more." I clap my hands together, laughing at him. "Now get your lazy ass out of bed. Because my sister is making biscuits and gravy and apart from my grandmother's, hers are second best. I will not let you fuck this up for me."
"Roger that," I tell him, and I swing my legs off the bed and put on the shorts he brought me this morning. I put my hands on the bed, getting up slowly, pulling the stitches tight now. I put my hand to my side when I stand straight and hope I didn’t pull anything. "I walk as slow as a ninety-five-year-old man."
"We can get you a cane," Ethan jokes with me. "Or you know, those walker things with wheels." He walks beside me just in case I go down.
"Fuck you," I say, lifting my hand and giving him the bird, but everything in my body hurts now.
I hear the soft music playing when I get to the opening of the family room attached to the kitchen. "Is there a blanket somewhere?" I look over at Ethan. "The whole couch is white, and I’m afraid I’ll bleed on it.”
"In the hallway," Chelsea says, pointing toward a white door. "There are some in there, but it’s not necessary. I live here. It’s not a museum, so things are bound to get dirty."
I look over at the L-shaped white couch with gray throw pillows with a black coffee table in the middle. Two big single white couches face the L-shaped couch with a little gray table between them, and she has a vase of tulips on there. I walk over, sitting down, and I’m not going to lie. I let a big sigh out. "Do you want water or juice?" she asks, and I look at her as she kneads the dough with flour on her face as she sings along to the music.
"I’m good for now," I tell her, and she claps her hands, then rubs them together and comes over to me. "Here you go," she says, handing me the black remote. "You can watch television. I’ll turn off the music."
"You don’t have to do that," I tell her, and I smell her citrus smell. She turns, and I see her use her heel to walk.
"I have to run out," Ethan says, coming back from the back room. "Gabriel just got called into the office. The kid is in the principal's office in pre-school."
"Oh, no," Chelsea says. "Is everything okay?"
"He stuck up for a kid that was being bullied," he says with a smile.
"Then I think he deserves ice cream," Chelsea says, smiling.
Ethan nods and walks out of the house, slamming the door behind him. Instead of turning on the television, I watch Chelsea. "You watching me is weird," she says, cutting the biscuits with the round silver cylinder.
"I didn’t know you cooked," I tell her.
"There is a lot about me that you don't know," she counters. "Every single time you’ve been around me, you have said a total of maybe five words."
She is not wrong. "I’m sure I said more than five words," I tell her, but I know I didn’t. Every time I saw her, and she was next to me, my tongue got suddenly heavy and my throat closed up. It was the weirdest thing. I also got a hard-on every single time, and then I had to remind myself that she was six years younger than me, and I was a dirty animal.
“I mean, when you did meet me, you said, ‘It’s great to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you,’” she says, laughing. “I remember because all I kept thinking was who was the hot guy.” I swallow now.
“I remember seeing you across the lawn and then thinking how beautiful you were,” I tell her. “And then Ethan told me your name, and I just felt like an old creep,” I admit to her.
"Oh, wait," she says, turning and putting the tray in the oven. "Once, we did have an in-depth conversation." I look over at her. "Do you not remember? It got pretty heated."
My heart speeds up, and I just shake my head. "There was no way in fuck we had a conversation, and it was heated," I tell her, trying to remember when this happened as I sit on the couch watching her.
"It was, and it was over pizza." She folds her arms over her chest. "It got heated when you didn’t get off my ass about pineapples on pizza."
I put my head back and laugh, but the pulling in my side makes me wince. Her face goes white as she looks at me, and I hold up my hand to stop her from coming over. "I remember that. Pineapple is not supposed to be on pizza."
"Yeah, well, we can agree to disagree." She laughs, turning, and I see her take a pan out as she starts the gravy.
"So why did you want to become a nurse?" I ask her, trying to make it less awkward between the two of us.
"Gabriel," she tells me without skipping a beat. She walks to the stainless steel fridge, grabbing stuff in her hands. "The minute he was born, I had this fear that if something happened to him, I wouldn’t be able to help him." I watch her talk. "The fear grew, and I just decided to volunteer at the clinic in the next town. Dr. Gabe is a family friend, and he made me shadow him, and I just fell in love with it. Knowing that you are helping someone is just…"
"It’s a rush," I tell her, my mouth watering as she whisks something on the stove. My stomach is suddenly rumbling.
"I never thought about it like that." She looks over. "If you weren’t in the military, what do y
ou think you would be doing?"
"That’s a hard question," I tell her honestly. "I’ve thought about it, especially when I was on tour. You are stuck with hours and hours of waiting. Your head plays your life over and over.” I shrug now. “I never stayed in one place long enough to want to do anything else. I would stay in my cabin and wait for my next deployment. In the end, I think the military saved me."
"Everything happens for a reason," she says, and I see her pouring milk in the pan. "Every single thing has a chain reaction."
"You really believe that?" I ask her. "You think my father shooting and torturing me was for a reason?"
She turns down the stove and turns to look at me. "Yes. You joining the military and going on those tours. You were meant to do that. You save people. You serve and protect. That is your reason." She walks over to the sink and washes her hands. "Just like me being home when you showed up. I was supposed to be home next week," she tells me, and my heart speeds up. "But I come home early so I can spend time with my family." I listen to her words. "So even though what happened to you was the shittiest thing that can happen, there was a reason for it."
"Yeah," I tell her, swallowing the lump, "and I have an even bigger reason to find my father and kill him."
Chapter 12
Chelsea
His face goes hard, and I can see the shift happen before my very eyes. "And I have an even bigger reason to find my father and kill him." His voice is cutthroat, and I believe every single word.
I want to say something, but the timer dings, and I turn around, opening the oven door. The heat hits me right away as I grab the oven mitt and pull out the biscuits. The golden brown color is perfect. "I’m going to whip you up some broth." I look over at him, and I see him trying to get up off the couch. I walk over to the fridge, taking the broth I made yesterday for him. I scoop some in a bowl and pop it in the microwave.
"I hate that you have to cook a different meal for me," he says to me. "I’m good with the biscuits and gravy." I stand here looking at him. The ink on his arm is so bright in the light as the sunlight comes into the windows, and he walks into the yellow light.
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