Chapter 17
Liz
Iwatched the ambulance drive off into the night.
The first ambulance had loaded Brock onto a stretcher and left with him right away.
The knife didn’t seem to have hit anything vital but getting it out without causing too much blood loss wasn’t a job to do in the driveway.
The second ambulance had looked Nate and me over, removing some glass from my knee and giving him a few stitches in his forearm.
They had requested that we go to the hospital to be checked out further but we both declined.
Just the idea of the dingy yellow lights and antiseptic smell of a hospital had me retreating towards Nate’s house.
I had been right. It was Kyle after all. I had so many questions. Why after all this time? Had he been watching me since we split up? What would he have done if he had caught me alone and defenceless. I shuddered. I wouldn’t let my brain go there. Not tonight. I just wanted to curl up and forget.
Nate put his arm gently around my shoulders and led me inside.
I was dead on my feet. A fuzzy-brained combination of tired and wired.
Jittery and exhausted. In the full light of his kitchen, I got my first good look at Nate.
What had been a well-fitting riding jacket that morning hung limply over his arm, covered in a combination of dust, grass, and blood.
He went to toss it on the couch, thought better of it, and tossed it next to his shoes.
Everything else he wore was in the same shape.
Dirty, limp, and in need of a wash or a garbage can.
I glanced down at myself and realized I was no better.
My jeans were ripped wide open at the knee, it started with the fight then the paramedics cut the rest to bandage up my knee.
The initial sting from having the cuts cleaned had faded into a more subtle throb.
It was a small price to pay for the outcome we got tonight.
I stumbled drunkenly after Nate as he guided me into the bathroom. He seemed to have his head on straighter than I did, and I was happy to let him lead.
“I just want to sleep.” My voice came out in a whine as he lifted me by the hips and placed me on the bathroom counter.
“I know. Me too, but we’re both filthy and we can’t shower with our stitches.
” He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it in the hamper before leaning over the sink and washing his hands and arms clean.
Guilt bubbled up as I took in the extent of his injuries.
He was scuffed and bruised all over one arm, not to mention the stitches from a long, jagged gash.
Tomorrow, I would ask him what happened that delayed him, the story behind the cuts.
Right now, I just needed to focus on the immediate.
“Arms up.” I followed his instructions without protest, and he carefully worked my shirt up and over my head.
My hair had come free from the braid I’d put it in before work and the pieces hung limply in my eyes.
I pushed them away and looked myself over.
Bruises were starting to form on my upper arms from where he’d yanked me from the car.
I ran my hand over them, seeing the purple finger marks stand out against my pale skin. Tears pricked the backs of my eyes.
Nate put his hands on either side of my face and tilted my chin up, so I was looking into his eyes. “Hey, don’t look. It’s over, just focus on that. Focus on you and me.” He grabbed a cloth from a shelf and wetted it in the sink.
“I’m going to get us clean, then we’re going to either eat or go to bed or both okay? We will sort this shit out tomorrow.”
I nodded, not missing his words. We. Somewhere, in the middle of this living nightmare, I had started to think of Nate and I as we. He seemed to feel the same way. He had taken this whole mess on with me, at my side every step from the moment I had told him the truth.
Leaving everything until tomorrow felt like a great idea.
The only one I could stomach at the moment.
I couldn’t do anything for Brock. He needed doctors, nurses, and family, not the person who got him into this mess in the first place.
Kyle was in custody, and it was late. There was nothing that could be done right now.
Nate ran the warm cloth over my cheek, and I leaned into his hand. The heat felt amazing, and I was eager to clean every reminder of what had happened from my skin. “That feels really good.” My voice came out in a low mumble.
“Good.” He repeated the motion over my face and neck. I closed my eyes and just let him help me for a moment before refocusing on him. He was in just as bad of shape as I was. Now wasn’t the time to go over it, but the realization shook me out of my pity party.
“Here, let me.” I took a clean cloth and twisted around on the counter to run it under the faucet before working it over his bare chest. Bruises, scratches, dirt, and grime marred his usually perfect skin.
He had risked a lot for me tonight. We had agreed not to go there, not now anyway but how was I supposed to pretend he hadn’t risked his life for me?
I swiped the cloth over his shoulder and then followed the motion with my mouth.
Kissing each inch before moving to the next.
He leaned into me, his head coming to rest in the crook of my neck, as I gently washed his back while moving my tongue along his neck.
His skin touching mine was like a balm to my frazzled mind.
Soothing, calming, and rendering me down to my most basic needs.
He smoothed his hands up my sides and around to my back.
My bra slid down my arms. He grabbed the cloth from the counter and ran it over my chest. It had cooled since it had been sitting and my nipples puckered from the chill.
He dipped his head, sucking one into his mouth.
I arched into him and focused on every delicious flick of his tongue.
I tossed the cloth aside and moved my hands to the button of his jeans. My palms stung where they had scraped against the driveway, but I was motivated and managed to get his jeans to hit the ground. I palmed him through his boxers, and he groaned thrusting gently against my hand.
“We still need to get cleaned up.” His voice was strained.
“I don’t want to get clean, I want to get dirty.”
He threw his head back and groaned. “Fuck, I can’t say no to that.”
His lips crashed onto mine as he fumbled with the button on my jeans.
He slid them out from under my hips and then I was naked.
The cold tile of the counter bit into my ass.
He rewet the cloth and got down on his knees, working it from my ankle up, cleaning away the blood and the dirt.
He took his sweet-ass time, smoothing first the cloth then his fingers, then his lips over the sensitive skin of my calves and inner thighs.
I never really understood that whole through sickness and health, to have and to hold stuff.
If I was dating a guy, even seriously, I didn’t want him if I was sick.
I wanted my sister. Through this, that changed.
I could tell myself I didn’t want to wake my pregnant sister.
Didn’t want to worry her. The truth was, the only one I wanted to have take care of me was the one with his lips on my thigh.
It started to make sense. He had become my person, the top of my contact list, my ride or die.
I hadn’t seen it coming. Once I was sparkling clean and dripping wet — because of more than just the cloth — he pushed my thighs apart and attacked me with his tongue.