by Jaci J
She looks sad, and I don’t like it.
I want a smile on those pretty little lips. I want a smile on her face because I fucking put it there.
“Angel,” I growl, leaning against the doorframe for a little support.
She perks up, twisting her head to look in my direction. “Jesus, Cruz, what are you doing out of bed?” she demands, jumping out of the chair and coming toward me.
Her hands are instantly on me, on my chest.
Jesus, her touch...
“Looking for you.”
That surprises her. “Me? What happened to your girlfriend?”
I try not to chuckle, but can’t help it. She thinks that dumb bitch is my girlfriend? That’s fucking cute. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“Wife?”
Now she’s just digging.
“I just got you, Angel.”
She tries to hide her smile behind her hand. “Oh.”
“You comin?” I ask, turning toward the door. We got a game to finish.”
We got a lot fucking more to finish.
She smiles, taking my arm and putting it over her shoulders, like she can help me walk. She’s a little thing, not helping me with shit, but I let her do it, let her feel helpful. “Ready to have your ass officially kicked?” she laughs, leaning into me.
“I’m fuckin’ ready.”
More than ready.
Mia
Sitting in Cruz’s hospital bed, next to him, his arm behind me, I listen to the doctor while watching Cruz’s face.
He’s not happy.
“We’d like you to stay with someone, just for a few days. Someone to help you up and down, and to watch for infection,” the doctor tells Cruz, his voice stern. “You’ve had a pretty serious injury, and with that comes possible complications.” He’s not playing around. The doctor wants him to stay at the hospital for a few more days, but Cruz said no. More like, ‘fuck no.’
This is their happy medium I suppose.
“I’m good.”
“You had some pretty traumatic injuries, Mr. Hernandez. I suggest you stay with someone or have someone stay with you if you insist on leaving the hospital.”
Cruz grunts, scrubbing at his cheek, seeming irritated. “Yeah, fine.” He’s just saying those words to appease the doctor. He’s going to do whatever he wants.
“Great.” The doctor looks triumphant, like he’s won a war. I don’t know Cruz well, but I know he’s just agreeing to get out of here. “We’ll discharge you here once your paperwork is done. Can Ms. Chase take you home, or should we call you a ride?”
I nod, inserting myself into the conversation. “Absolutely.” I don’t know how this is going to work, or if Cruz will even agree, but I owe him.
Cruz glares at me, not looking any happier.
The doctor leaves, telling us he’ll get his discharge papers and be back in about an hour.
As soon as the door closes, Cruz gets out of the bed. Pain is written all over his face as he struggles, but he pushes through it, getting to his feet.
“What are you doing?” I ask, getting up after him and going to his side.
“Leavin’,” he growls, looking at me. Those darks eyes are terrifying, yet so familiar.
“Cruz,” I whine, stepping in front of him.
He’s big. Huge. There’s no way I could actually stop him from leaving, but I’m going to try.
“I’m going home,” he argues, insistent.
“But the doctor...”
Cruz narrows his eyes. “I know what the fucking doctor said, and I couldn’t give a shit less. I’m a grown ass man, I can take care of myself.”
I don’t doubt him. I believe he’d go home and be fine or die there, alone, not concerned about his life, but I just can’t let him do that. I’m too invested. I care too much about him.
“Please, don’t,” I whisper, getting emotionally choked up. I know it’s stupid and makes no sense, but I keep seeing Cruz bloody, on the ground, because of me. I can’t just let him go, not without me. “Please, Cruz.”
“Don’t do that shit.”
“Do what?”
“Cry. I can’t fuckin’ stand that shit, baby. I can’t see you cryin’.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t let you go home alone. I’ll worry.”
He sighs, expelling a heavy, tired breath. “Mia,” he grumbles, shaking his head. He looks torn, like he wants to fight me, but also let it go.
“I’ll come with you, take care of you. Just until you’re better,” I suggest. I’ll do whatever.
“You gonna babysit me?” he chuckles darkly.
Rolling my eyes, I brace my hands on my hips, ready for a fight. I’ll use tears if I have to. “No, it’s my fault you’re even here, so I’d like to make sure everything goes okay, okay?”
Cruz looks me up and down, slowly. He seems to like to do that, take leisurely trips over every inch of me with those intense eyes. It makes me shiver and my skin tingle. His eyes are dark and foreboding, but they always seem to warm slightly when looking at me.
It makes me feel good.
Funny how Cruz is scarier looking than either of the two creeps that tried to grab me and caused all this, but here I am, practically insisting he stay with me, or me stay with him because I’m worried about him.
“You’re small, but pushy,” he concedes, walking around me.
“I’d like to think I’m persistent.”
Grabbing the shirt from the small table under the TV, he unfolds it and frowns. “A university shirt, huh?”
“It was all they had in the gift shop. It was either that or my cute cat tee.” Pulling at the hem of my shirt, I give him the option. “We can trade if you want?”
“You grabbed this for me?” he asks, slipping it over his head. I catch him wincing when he lifts his arms, and that’s exactly why he can’t go home alone.
“I did.”
“Thanks, Angel.”
He slips it on and looks at me. “Hand me my cut.”
I’m not sure what he’s talking about. “Your what?”
“My cut. The leather vest over there.” He jerks his chin up at the chair where I hung it for him.
“Oh.” I grab it, handing it to him. “What’s it for?”
“For wearin’, Angel.”
I watch him pull it on, his arms flexing when the material slips up his arms and over his broad shoulders.
“Figured as much.” I touch the patch on his back. “But what are these?”
“Patches.”
He’s being evasive.
“I know, but what do they mean?”
He crosses his large arms, looking down at me. “You gonna run off if I tell you?”
That catches me off guard. “I don’t know. Are you part of a cult?” I joke, but stop laughing when he gives me a serious look.
“Part of an MC.”
“MC?” He’s speaking in a langue I don’t understand.
“Motorcycle club.”
That makes me laugh, because I don’t have a clue what he’s talking about or why it would matter. “So?”
“So, I’m just in a motorcycle club, Angel,” he tells me, pulling the door open for me. “Let’s go.”
“Let’s go,” I agree, following him.
LUNA AND HER BOYFRIEND dropped my car off at the hospital after I explained in very short and miniscule details as to why I needed it. Luna’s sweet. She’s more of a work friend, but she’s my only friend.
Besides her, Cruz is now the only person I have. I’m so pathetic.
“I’m drivin’,” Cruz informs me, following me to my car.
I think my head snaps back and my jaw hits the ground. “You can’t drive. You can hardly walk.”
“Walked out the fuckin’ hospital, didn’t I?” He did. And he refused a wheelchair. “I’m driving.”
Out here, in the real world, Cruz seems bigger and meaner than he did inside that ambulance and hospital.
Without another word, I hand him m
y keys.
For whatever unexplainable reason, I trust him.
I trust him with my life.
Sliding into the passenger seat, I watch him get in on the driver’s side. He grunts in pain, but says nothing else when he pulls the door closed.
“Where do you live?” he asks, pulling out of the parking lot.
“Why?”
“You plannin’ on wearing that cat shirt for the next few days?” He looks over at me, eyeing my attire.
“No.”
I get what he’s saying—I’m staying with him.
“Good, because even though you’re fine as fuck, that shit does nothin’ for you. Address, Angel.”
I give him my address without question. “Thank you.”
“For?”
“Letting me stay with you.” For letting me win.
He nods, eyes on the road, voice hoarse. “Anything for you.”
His words mess with my head and my heart.
I kinda like it.
Cruz
Mia slides out of the car gracefully and walks toward her front door. I watch her go like it’s the last time I’m going to see her.
It should be. Really, it should.
I’m so fucking bad for her.
I should throw her car in park and get out, leave it here at the curb in front of her house. Walk away and leave her the fuck alone.
But I can’t. I want to make her mine.
Mia stops at her door, looking back at me waiting for her, with a look on her face I can’t read.
Jerking my chin up at her, I give her the okay to whatever she’s silently asking me.
She still looks unsure as she opens her door and disappears inside.
Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I turn it on. My inbox is flooded, as usual. I could die and the whole goddamn world would implode.
Jesus.
Pulling up my contacts, I make the call I know my boys have been waiting for.
It rings a couple times before someone answers.
“Damn, Cruz. We were startin’ to wonder if you’d finally died,” Jagger chuckles down the line.
I don’t laugh. “Maria called you, didn’t she?”
“Even after I changed my number.”
Sneaky bitch. “I’m good. I’ll be down a day or two.”
“Figured as much, since you’ve got that hot little lady takin’ care of you.”
They know about Mia, of course they do. They didn’t come to the hospital, but that doesn’t mean they weren’t watching.
These motherfuckers have my back, always.
“Just stay the fuck away, yeah? Let her have these few days. I’ll be back to work soon. Think you can handle shit until then?”
As much as I want Mia, I don’t know how long she’ll stay once she gets to know me, spends time around me. But I need a few days with her, at least. A few days to my motherfucking self with her.
I can hear Jagger walking through the shop, his voice and footsteps echoing off the concrete. “Yeah, I got ya.”
“Good.”
“Try not to die, yeah? We got a lot of shit goin’ on.”
“I’ll try not to die if you try not to fuck this up.”
“I make no promises, but don’t you go knockin’ up that pretty piece of ass you got with you.”
Speaking of...
Looking through the windshield, I watch Mia walk back through her door, her eyes sweeping the area around her before landing on me. She’s still scared, but a look of relief washes over her when we make eye contact.
I got you.
“You fuckin’ worry about keepin’ shit together while I’m gone, and I’ll worry about who I fuckin’ nut in, yeah?”
Fucking asshole.
Jagger snorts. “Yeah, motherfucker, I’ll talk to you later.”
Hanging up, I watch Mia slide into the passenger seat of her little black Corolla and smile up at me. “Ready,” she tells me, tossing a small duffle in the back seat.
I nod, pulling back onto the road and toward my place.
I haven’t been home in a couple weeks, having no real reason to go there. But now I’ve got a good one.
“You okay?” she asks, looking at me when I pull onto the main road.
“I’m fine.”
I know my voice is terse, but damn, I’m fucking fine. I’ll be good.
“Are you sure?” That shit pushes me over the edge.
Jerking the wheel to the side, I pull over again, turning in my seat to look at her. “I’m fine, Mia. Fuck, you gotta stop that shit.”
“I can’t help it,” she whispers, looking at her hands in her lap.
And neither can I. Grabbing her chin, I tip her head back to look up at me, serious about this shit. “I’m good.”
“I’m gonna ask,” she tells me, her voice firm, but soft. Sweet, but strong.
I sigh, appreciating her drive, even if it’s fucking irritating. “Every five minutes?”
“Every five minutes until I know you’re okay.”
Jesus, this girl.
Pulling back onto the road, I nod, knowing goddamn well I just met my match. Not a fucking thing I say will change her mind, and fuck it, I’m good with that.
Mia
Cruz lives on the outskirts of town. His house is an old wood sided, two-story farmhouse surrounded by forest. Tall dense trees line his driveway and property.
It’s perfect.
Putting the car in park, Cruz gets out and I follow, watching him pull open the back door and grabbing my bag from the back.
He winces when he bends over, but other than that, you’d never know he took two bullets for me. You’d never know there was anything wrong.
Walking onto the large front porch, I stand behind him as he unlocks the door and steps aside, letting me in first.
Inside is nice and simple. A big sectional. A large TV mounted on the wall above a small console table. A couple of throw pillows and a few pieces of art.
Comfortable.
Homey.
Cruz walks in, flicking on lights as he goes. He stops in the kitchen and tosses my bag onto the island.
He’s walking slowly. Carefully. I know he’s in pain, and I wish there was something I could do for him.
“Are you hungry?” he asks, looking in the fridge.
“Sure, but don’t cook anything. You need to rest.”
“Do I?” He looks at me from over his shoulder. “You still fuckin’ worried about me?”
“Yes.” There’s no hesitation in my answer. I am worried. I’ll be worried for a while.
Cruz doesn’t say anything else about it. “Pizza?” he asks, changing the subject.
“Sure.” I don’t want to push it, because I don’t know him enough to know when and how far to push something, but from what I can tell, he isn’t a man that bends much.
“I’ll call and make the order.” Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he dials a number and places it up to his ear, watching me the entire time. His eyes rake over me from head to toe, making me shiver. He’s so damn sexy, and I hate him for it, just a little bit. “Can I get three large pizzas?” He rambles off the toppings and side orders before hanging up and tossing his phone on the counter next to me.
“Three?” I laugh, confused over the amount. “Are you expecting company?”
“I’m a big man, Angel.”
“Oh, I know.”
He quirks a brow. “You know, huh?”
My face heats. “I mean, I am looking at you.”
He shakes his head, a hint of humor in his eyes. “It’ll be here in an hour.”
“Okay.” I try to hide my embarrassment, but fail.
He doesn’t push it, and I’m thankful for that.
Grabbing a glass and filling it with water, he pulls a few of his pain pills from his pocket and throws them back, swallowing roughly.
“You okay?” he asks, looking me over.
“I’m fine.”
“I’m gonna shower. Make yourself at ho
me. There’s a spare bed in the room across the hall from mine. You can put your shit in there or wherever you want.” He takes a couple of steps back, away from me. “You need me, I’m right down the hall.”
“I’ll be fine,” I assure him, sitting down at the island, watching him go and thinking about putting my stuff in his room.
He doesn’t care where I put my bag?
For whatever reason, that makes my heart race and my thighs clench.
But I put it out of my head. I kinda sort of have a boyfriend.
Thinking of...
I know I shouldn’t, but I do. I pull my phone out of my purse and check my messages.
There’s one.
It’s from Bryce.
Just checking in to see how you’re doing. I left you a few messages the other day but you didn’t respond. I really think we should sit down and talk, don’t you? I mean, it’s been a month, baby, and I’ve had more than enough time to figure this shit out. Call me, okay?
Feeling overwhelmingly anxious, I shove my phone back in my purse and stew a little. Staring out Cruz’s kitchen window, I watch as the rain clouds start to roll in, the sky turning an ominous and angry shade of gray.
They match my mood perfectly.
I don’t know how long I sit there, but I jerk when I hear a door hit the wall with a thud.
I snap my head around to look at Cruz, walking out of the bathroom from down the hall. My eyes widen and I bite my lip, trying desperately not to let my mouth fall open at seeing his body, wearing nothing but a towel.
He’s cut—big, bulky, tattooed and toned.
So damn sexy.
Jesus.
I kinda sort of have a boyfriend, dammit!
“You took the bandage off,” I accuse when my eyes travel down his sculpted body, looking at the fresh wound on his stomach and side. Two bullet holes sewn closed, and a long five-inch incision on his stomach stitched up. His skin is bruised and red.
Shit.
I’m failing at taking care of him.
I slide off my stool and walk over to him in the hall. Crouching down and leaning in, I touch the skin softly near the bullet holes with my fingers, inspecting them. “You weren’t supposed to get it wet,” I huff when I look up at him, giving him the evil eye.
