I tense my arms around her. “Talk to me. Don’t shut down on me now. Not after all the progress you’ve made. I know you’ve already had a shit day—”
“It’s not that,” she interrupts.
“What is it, then?”
“I don’t want to think about it.”
“You are thinkin’ about it, though. If your pain is related to your life before, then every time it strikes it’s makin’ you think about it.”
She shifts. “Then I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Well, too bad,” I growl, doing a shit job at hiding my frustration. “You’re in pain, and not the mental kind. Physical, real pain that I may be able to help you do something about if you weren’t bein’ damn stubborn all of a sudden. Let me help you.”
“You can’t,” she fires back.
I stroke my fingers down the bare skin of her arm. “Please,” I beg on a whisper.
Her head tips back, those fingers sifting through the coarse strands at my chin, curling and flexing against my face, and her gorgeous eyes peer into mine with a mixture of curiosity and dread.
She doesn’t release my stare as she shares, “A year or two ago. That’s when it started. The men weren’t usually gentle.”
My body locks as her words register. Keep it together Sin, plays in my head on repeat. Hearing her voice aloud some of the horror she’s been through, and that’s still fucking affecting her, sends rage flaming through my body. I’m suddenly hot and sweating with the effort to hold it together when all I really want is to tear something apart with my bare hands. It physically hurts to look in her eyes as she shares this, but I can’t make myself turn away. She’s stripping herself bare for me.
I have to swallow twice to clear the lump in my throat. “We need to take you to a doctor. Tonight. I’m taking you to the emergency room.”
That strength in her eye wilts into fear. She pulls her hand from my beard and plants them in my chest as leverage to push away. “What? No. We aren’t going anywhere.”
I watch cautiously as her gaze darts around the room. I don’t know if she’s looking for a weapon or an exit, but she isn’t going to find much of either here.
“You’re lyin’ in my bed writhing in pain, and you don’t want to go to a doctor? What if there’s an easy fix? You’d rather sit here and suffer?”
She turns back to me, sending her hair flying out behind her. “I’d rather not be seen by someone who knows me!”
“And I’d rather not watch you struggling to take a deep breath because it hurts so fuckin’ bad.”
“Then leave!” she cries.
That flat-out pisses me off.
“I will never leave you,” I growl. “Haven’t I shown you that? I’m by your side if we’re outside this apartment, and if we’re not, I’m merely steps away. Goin’ to the doctor is no different, blossom. I won’t be steps away. I’ll be right there, holdin’ your hand until you decide it’s time to let go of mine. The only person capable of leaving here is you, and when you decide that time has come, I’ll let you go. Until then, I’m here, and I’m takin’ care of you, which means you’re going to get yourself checked out.”
Her face changes from hysteria to one of confusion. “Why would you say that?”
I get up from the bed and busy myself with finding her some decent clothes to wear outside rather than the long tee she has on for sleep. “I don’t have time to rehash everything I just said. You got a question, then spit it out.”
“Fine,” she sasses, and the heat in her voice makes my lips twitch. Even during a full-blown argument, she can make me smile. “Why do you think I’ll leave?”
The urge to smile vanishes. “Not now, but you will. When you’re all put back together.”
“What more needs to be put back together?”
“Someday, maybe not tomorrow, but in the future, you’re going to want to find your family. And it’ll shred me, but when you go back to them, you won’t need me.” I finally find the bag of clothes we bought that day in the closet and yank out a pair of jeans and a shirt. I turn and toss them on the bed, avoiding looking her in the eye after the truth I let myself share.
Movement has me turning my head to her, and I find her kneeling on my bed, arms out at her sides, palms facing me. Her hair is a glorious cascade down her shoulders and arms, a mixture of bedhead and just Shelby. I’ve never seen her more beautiful than in that simple tee. “What about me, about what you see right here, says that’ll happen? What have I done to make you think I’d want to leave you?”
“You might not want to, but you will. They’ll want you back.”
Her voice falls. “And what about you?”
“I don’t matter.”
“You matter to me.”
I rub my right fist over the left side of my chest. “I don’t deserve you,” I tell her honestly.
“I think you do.” She answers with her own truth. “And I think you already know that.”
I track her movement as she slips off the side of the bed, not stopping until she’s directly in front of me. The tips of her toes nearly touch mine when she stops so close. I can smell the shampoo we bought for her from her hair, the flowery scent a perfect complement to the nickname I gave her what feels like decades ago.
She reaches forward and takes my hand in her surprisingly strong grasp. With a sharp tug, she walks backward toward the bed in an attempt to take me with her.
And who the fuck am I to resist?
I’ve been scary.
I’ve been mean.
I’ve abandoned her and left her with Elias. Called her out and mocked her. I’ve shown her the ugliest, darkest sides of my blackened soul, yet here she is, dragging me into her light. She’s fearless and strong; the meek woman from the past has vanished, and in her place is this warrior who gives as good as she gets.
So yeah, having her tugging my hand to pull me into a bed where I can hold her to my side and know she’s safe for the time being? I’d be an idiot to resist.
“The real question is do I deserve you?”
With my hand still in her grip, I watch as she lifts one knee and then the other onto the bed, settling on her calves near the middle. “I’m just a man,” I rasp. I reach behind my head with my free hand, fist the material at my neck, and drag my tee over my head. Shelby’s gaze drops to the colorful markings across my wide chest before she returns her eyes to mine.
“You’re so much more than that,” she whispers back.
I follow her onto my bed and settle near the middle. As soon as I’m stretched out, Shelby curls into me, chest to chest, hip to hip, her warm palm near my pec, and her chin on top of it. Her free hand absently traces the lines of my ink. I drop my free hand around her back and resume rubbing circles there. Somewhere during our discussion, the topic of going to the hospital was dropped.
“How’s your pain?”
Her shoulder lifts. “It’s waning.”
“I want you to get looked at. I know a doctor. He came and looked at you while you were unconscious those first couple of days. He might know someone with a private office or someone willing to make a house call. Even if it’s just for some painkillers, you need to be treated.”