He reaches past me to flip on a lamp by the bed, assaulting me with a wave of soap, shampoo, and mint. It happens too fast to avoid breathing it in. Yep, now that potent virus is weaving through my brain, leaving me lightheaded and addicted to something I definitely should not want.
Don’t want.
Can’t want.
Except, right now, in this moment, I do. I want it so much I’m afraid to move when he finally lowers himself beside me on the bed. He’s right there. Half-naked, broken, smelling like forests and fresh rain and I just… blink.
“You okay?” he asks, those dangerous eyes dark with concern for me, the one person in this apartment who doesn’t need a life overhaul.
“Fine. Why?” I clip out. It sounds rude, and I notice the way he recoils before adjusting further away.
“I said you didn’t have to do this. I can take care of myself, trust me.” His voice is darker than it was a second ago. I don’t like it. I miss the smile on his face. The way these rare glimpses past the façade make me ache.
“I totally believe that. It doesn’t mean you shouldn’t let others help when they want to.” I realize as I say this how confusing and hypocritical I must seem. Why would he expect me to help him after I’ve done nothing but hate him up until this point? Why would he want me to?
His expression confirms it, and I let out a heavy sigh. I’ve always been direct. It’s just so much easier than the political games I was forced to play growing up.
“Look, did I think you were an asshole? Yes. Did I think you were self-centered and didn’t care at all about your niece? Yes. Am I maybe starting to think differently now?”
“No, I’m definitely an asshole,” he cuts in with a breathtaking grin.
Wow.
My hand lifts to touch it before my brain intervenes, and his smile fades. He stares at my fingers as I curl them into a fist and force them back to my lap. “Hadley…”
“It’s so late. Can we just get this done so I can go to bed? I have to work tomorrow.”
“It’s Sunday. We don’t have rehearsal.”
“My job isn’t to watch your rehearsals, Julian,” I say in a flat tone.
A smirk leaks over his lips, but he doesn’t respond. Instead, he shifts to face me so I get a better view of the damage. I hiss in a breath when I take in the true extent of his injuries for the first time.
“Yeah, it didn’t exactly go as planned,” he mutters, wincing as he studies his chest. “I didn’t expect him to have six guys with him.”
I nod, holding in my opinions and any more words that will get me in trouble. Concentrating on the task at hand helps, and I suddenly get super interested in antibiotic ointment and medical gauze.
“This one should probably have stitches,” I say, examining the slash on his arm. “Was this the knife you were talking about?”
He nods. “I cleaned it out pretty well in the shower. Just pack it with gauze and wrap it as tightly as you can.”
“I already washed my hands.”
“That first aid kit should have gloves.”
I reach for it and get to work.
Through the silence, though, the words start building in my head again, the questions. I think back to the photo of Naomi and her mother. The physical transformation she’s undergone and how it must be mirroring some deep emotional wounds. Then my thoughts turn to Danny P and the chilling account I’d read. I’m not surprised by Julian’s actions after finding those texts. I burned so hot, I would have finished the job if Julian hadn’t assured me it was done.
His gasp draws me back to the present, and I realize I’ve been taking out my anger for Danny P on the latest cut I’ve been treating. “Oops, sorry.”
He shakes his head, but remains silent. In fact, I notice a general worn look on his face when I dare a peek. Whether from pain or exhaustion, I don’t know, but he clearly is done with this day and ready to collapse.
“Almost finished. I’ll get ice for your chest and eye too. Those bruises look pretty bad.”
“Thanks,” he says.
I finish up the last bandage and move to rise when he grabs my wrist. Surprised, I stare at our connection, a shiver running through me when he tugs gently.
“Seriously, Hadley, thank you. For this, but mostly for staying with Naomi. She likes you. I can see that and…” He looks away. “Anyway, she does. So thank you for shining a little light in her world. She needs it.”
So do you, I want to add, searching his eyes. Doesn’t he see his niece isn’t the only one drowning?
“Just talk to her, Julian.” His gaze lowers, and I touch the edge of the bruise around his eye. “Danny P and I can’t be the only ones who know you care about her.”
He ducks away from my touch and releases me. “I will. Just, not about this.”
I straighten, staring at him. “You’re not going to tell her about confronting Danny P?”
He glares at me and pushes up from the bed. “Of course not. Why would I tell her that?”
“Um, because it’s extremely important that she knows you care and guys like that are dangerous. Besides it’s going to be obvious something went down the second she sees you.”
“I’ll talk to her about jackholes like Danny P, but I’m not telling her about the fight. I’ll come up with some other story to explain the injuries.”
My fists clench in my lap. “You have to, Julian!”
“No, I don’t.”
“You can’t lie to her!”
“I have to.”
“She needs to know—”
“No.”
“Why on earth wouldn’t you—"
“Because that girl carries enough shit! She’s not carrying this too,” he snaps back.
My anger stammers to a halt, all my judgments falling away again. Our worlds couldn’t be more different, where we come from, where we’re going. When will I acknowledge the fact that I can’t understand him because I can’t understand his universe?
“Where’s her father?” I ask, unable to let this go for some reason. Let her go. Him. I may not understand but I want to.
He blinks over at me, clearly surprised I’m staying. Not just staying, pushing.
“I have no fucking clue,” he says darkly.
“He abandoned her?”
He shrugs. “Dropped her off a month ago and never came back. Her mother died a year ago. I’m all she’s got. Lucky girl, right?”
“Her mother?”
“My sister.”
“The blond woman in the photo.”
“What photo?”
“Above her bed.”
By his expression he doesn’t know what I’m talking about. “She doesn’t let me in her room. She despises me.”
“She doesn’t. She despises her life. Her situation. You represent that.”
“What’s the difference if she hates me or hates what I represent?”
“There’s a huge difference.”
“How?”
“Because you can’t change who you are but you can change what you represent.”
He quiets, almost startled, before the shadow returns to his face. “You have no idea what I represent,” he mutters, limping toward the door.