Chapter 7 Georgia
Eventually, the world goes completely silent except for the pounding of my heartbeat.
Griffin’s body is pressed tight against mine, heavy and protective.
His breath is ragged in my ear. I can still smell the gunpowder in the air but thankfully, the gunfire has stopped.
For a long, terrible moment, neither of us moves.
Then, Griffin slowly lifts his head. I watch as he scans the yard.
His eyes are hard now, sharp in a way that makes my stomach twist. It’s almost as if he is a different person.
“Are you okay?” his gritty voice rumbles, sending electrical sparks of awareness through my system.
I nod, though my throat feels too tight to answer, but I force the words out. “Y-yeah. I think so.” Griffin pushes up on one arm, wincing, and that’s when I see it—his sleeve is torn and there’s a dark red patch spreading under his tee, near his shoulder. “Oh my God,” I gasp. “You’re bleeding!”
“It’s nothing,” he mutters, brushing it off like I just told him it was cold outside.
“Nothing?” I squeak. “Griffin, you were just shot!”
“Grazed,” he corrects, grimacing slightly as he moves his arm. “It just nicked me. I’ve had worse.”
I stare at him in disbelief. “Do you even hear yourself? You’ve been shot on my grandmother’s front lawn.”
He actually smiles—smiles—like this is somehow funny. “Worried about me, baby?”
“Griffin,” I practically plead, my voice drops. “You need to go to the hospital.”
He shakes his head. “No hospitals. I’m fine.”
My hands go to my hips automatically, my heart still racing. “You’re not fine. Griffin! You’re bleeding. That’s about as far from okay as you can get,” I explain, trying not to shriek.
“Georgie.” His tone is gentle now, almost pleading. “Just help me clean it up, yeah? I’ll be all right.”
There’s something in his voice that makes me stop arguing—something stubborn and exhausted and something I can’t readily define, but I think it might be fear—although I sense it’s fear for me, not himself. That kind of pisses me off.
“Fine,” I say finally. “But if you pass out, I’m calling 911.”
He gives me a crooked grin. “Deal.”
We stand up and using his good arm, he pulls me to him as we walk back inside. Nana’s standing in the doorway, her eyes wide as saucers, fear painted all over her face. It’s a look that I never want to see on my grandmother’s face again.
“The police,” she starts, and her voice is trembling. I move from Griffin’s side and hug her.
“I’ll call the club and our contact at the sheriff’s office, Nana,” he promises.
“What happened out there?” she asks, and this time I can see the anger bleed through her fear.
“Drive-by,” Griff says dryly, like he’s commenting on the weather.
“Drive-by?” She squints at him. “Is my Georgie in danger being with you, Griffin?”
I want to argue that I’m not with him. I can’t make the words form on my tongue. I don’t know what to do with that. I push my fear aside for now. I need to make sure that Griffin is okay. That’s all I can handle right now.
I give her a quick hug and go back to Griffin’s side. “We’re fine, Nana. I just need to patch him up. He’s bleeding.”
“Were you shot?” she asks him, sounding panicked.
“No. Just scratched my shoulder open when I pushed Georgie down onto the ground,” he lies. Considering how freaked out my grandmother looks right now, I let him get away with it.
Her voice follows us down the hall as I lead him to the bathroom. “There’s iodine and alcohol and bandages in my bathroom cabinet, Georgie.”
“Okay, Nana,” I answer, leading him to my bedroom instead. “Sit down on the bed. I’ll get the first aid kit,” I mutter, not really looking at him.
“I can come into the bathroom, baby,” he says.
I half laugh as I look around the small, dated, pink tiled room. The vanity mirror always tilts slightly to the left. “I’m afraid if you come in here all your testosterone will leak from your body,” I joke.
“It is kind of pink,” he admits. I look up to find him standing in the doorway. He’s staring at the pink toilet and bathtub with a hilarious look on his face.
“Yeah,” I respond and if I wasn’t so worried about him, I’d giggle.
“I’ll meet you on your bed. I like the sound of that better,” he mutters.
I roll my eyes, but don’t verbally respond. I take a minute to catch my breath and then grab the supplies I need. With another deep breath, I go back into the bedroom. I kneel down on my knees as I listen to him talk on his phone.
“No,” he growls quietly. “I didn’t get a good look at the son of a bitches.
There were two of them. It was a white car.
I saw a Lexus emblem. That’s about all I know.
Get on the horn to our contacts at the Sheriff’s office.
Yeah, head over here. Let’s see if we can find out anything.
We need to see if there are any security cameras around.
We need a fucking clue to get to the bottom of this shit, C. ”
“Yeah, man. They shot at my old lady. I want everyone involved and I won’t rest until I get them. That’s what I said. Georgia is mine. I’ve already claimed her. That’s not changing.”
“Yeah. I’ll see you here. Make sure you get here before the cops,” he snaps and then hangs up the phone.
He goes quiet when he hangs up the phone.
I feel like I have a million questions, but I’m afraid to ask any of them.
So, I stay quiet, too. I carefully peel back his torn shirt sleeve as I sort through my thoughts.
His wound isn’t deep, thank God, but swollen and red.
It makes my stomach turn. He could have died today.
I could have died. I’ve never had to face anything like this and this time it’s with a man who has apparently claimed me, and yet today is the first day I’ve spent any time with him.
Part of me feels like I’ve entered an alternate universe.
My calm life is over if I let Griffin into my life—which apparently, I don’t have a choice about.
I’m feeling lost.
“This is not nothing,” I whisper, my fingers trembling as I wet a cloth and start cleaning his wound.
He watches me with that steady gaze of his. I can feel the weight of it, even if I refuse to look at him. “You’ve got a gentle touch, Georgie,” he croons softly.
“Don’t distract me,” I order. “I’m too busy making sure you don’t bleed all over my comforter.
” I’m lying. It seems safer to say that, however, instead of telling him that I need him to leave me alone and disappear.
I feel like if I do that, he might go and that terrifies me just as much as keeping him in my life.
Griffin lets out a dry chuckle, then winces when I dab his wound with the antiseptic. “You’re bossy when you’re worried,” he observes.
I force myself to look into his face for a moment. There’s a lot written there, but I truly don’t know how to read any of it, so I focus back on what I’m doing. “I’m allowed to be. I just had the life scared out of me.”
His smile fades, and he looks down at his hands. “I’m sorry, baby. I don’t want this part of my world touching you.” Something about the way he says it makes my chest ache. I reach for more of the antiseptic and try to breathe.
“Little late for that. I don’t actually like you protecting me with your body, either. You could have actually been shot, Griffin.”
I bite my lip as I look at him. The reality of what just happened hits me. He literally shielded me with his body to keep me safe. Who the hell does that? Made up heroes in movies and books, that’s who. It definitely doesn’t happen in real life—at least, I’ve never seen it.
He reaches out and softly touches my cheek, letting his thumb graze back and forth. “If it meant keeping you safe, I’d take worse, sweetheart.”
His words are delivered so soft that they feel almost like a physical touch. I can hear the gentle honesty in them, too. I close my eyes as emotions I’ve never felt before in my life, hit me.
I feel like I can’t breathe.
“I …”
His hand lifts up to my hip. I feel his fingers slide under my pajama top, grazing the skin and I exhale, letting the air shudder through my body. His touch is light, careful, but it heats me all the way to my bones.
“I’m fine, Georgie,” he says, voice soft but certain. “You’re good and I’m here with you. That’s all I need.”
I want to argue, to tell him how reckless that sounds—but I can’t find the words.
So instead, I finish patching him up and then put a bandage over the wound.
When I have it done, I slowly step back.
I don’t go far. I can’t, because he still has a hold on my hip.
If I’m completely honest, I don’t really want to go anywhere either.
“There,” I whisper. “All done.”
He smiles at me, slow and grateful. “Guess I owe you one now, don’t I?”
“You owe me at least two,” I reply, trying to keep my voice steady. “One for almost giving me a heart attack, and one for bleeding on my rug.”
His laugh rumbles low in his chest. “Fair enough,” he admits as he stands beside me. “I guess I should try to pay you back a little now then, right?”
“What do you mean?” I ask, rubbing my lips together to moisten them, because suddenly it feels like my body is on fire.
His scent of cigarette smoke and leather surrounds me and I never thought those two combined smells could appeal to me, but God I was so wrong. He leans down, his forehead nearly touching mine. “I just want to show you my appreciation,” he murmurs.