Chapter Eleven #2
My throat goes tight.
“You’re not a wuss,” he continues. “You’re overwhelmed. You’re scared. You’re exhausted. And you’re still standing upright.” He taps my chest lightly. “Which we both know is not something you do very well in my presence. You’re always falling into my arms… dramatically, I might add.”
I huff and smack his chest.
“It’s called fainting,” I correct. “And it’s not my fault you’re always in the room when I have a spell.”
“I am,” he says, suddenly serious. His hand slides to my jaw, forcing eye contact. “As a matter of fact, from now on, you’re only allowed to faint if I’m in the room.”
“I can’t control when my body shuts down,” I laugh, stepping back when he loosens his arms.
“Well, you’re gonna have to learn how, baby,” he says, brow raised like he’s giving a decree from the heavens. “I don’t think my poor soul can handle another shock like seeing you on the floor again.”
“Alright,” I roll my eyes. “I’ll try my best to only faint when you’re in the room. Unrealistic as that may seem.”
“Good.” He nods, firm and satisfied, like we just signed a treaty. Then he turns his head. “Now…Spike. Since you like things all formal and shit, I need to formally request permission to kill a Shadow for pissing me the fuck off.”
“Denied,” Spike sighs, already sounding exhausted. “He’s out cold, and I think he learned his lesson.”
“What Shadow are we killing?” Knuckles asks as he strolls into the room and nearly trips over Mike’s unconscious body. He nudges him with his boot. “Hmm. Is he dead?”
“No,” Spike sighs again.
“Does he need to be?”
“No.”
“Yes,” Skip growls. “But my request has been denied. So I’ll just punch him in the face every chance I get.”
Spike doesn’t even argue…just pinches the bridge of his nose like he’s aged ten years in ten minutes.
But when he glances in my direction, he winks. And for some reason… that makes me smile.
“Come here, woman,” Spike murmurs, pulling Riley into his arms. “Patch will be here tomorrow. He wants to set up a medical unit down here.”
“Not a bad idea,” Skip says. “Surprised he hasn’t done it already.”
“Who’s Patch?” I ask.
“Oh, he looks like the embodiment of death,” Abby says cheerfully. “But he’s funny. And kind. And terrifying. In a comforting way.”
“Only to those who deserve his loyalty,” Skip adds. “That man can turn his medical training into interrogation tactics. One scalpel and he’ll have all your organs on the table while calmly asking you to describe what the pain feels like.”
“And if he doesn’t like your answer,” Knuckles says helpfully, “he’ll put everything back, sew you up, and find a new spot to start over.”
I blink. “You guys talk about violence like it’s a pizza topping.”
Sunny laughs and pats my shoulder. “Don’t let them scare you, Eli. Patch really is kind. I promise.”
“Yeah,” Abby agrees. “Once you get past the death-glare and the part where he stares into your soul like he’s checking for spare lungs.”
“Super comforting,” I mutter.
Skip grins at me. “You’ll love him, baby.”
“I don’t think that’s how love works,” I whisper back.
“Sure it does,” he says. “You love me, don’t you?”
My brain ejects itself from my skull.
Sunny snorts. Abby chokes on her water. Knuckles mutters, “Always pushing it.”
Skip just smirks at me like he knows exactly what he just did.
“Insane,” I remind him. “You are certifiably insane.”
“You will love me, pretty boy,” he smirks. “One way or another, I will win that heart of yours.”
“I’m going to actually die from the sweetness,” Sunny sighs dramatically. “Tell Bones I want to be cremated and my ashes scattered across the world.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you, woman?” Knuckles hisses, glancing around. “You can’t talk like that. Bones will kill us all out of spite.”
“He’s not here, silly,” she laughs.
“Oh, that doesn’t matter,” Skip says. “He’ll know. The man always knows when you’re not one-thousand-percent safe.”
“You guys are nuts,” she giggles…right as her phone rings.
Her eyes go huge when she sees the name.
“You can’t kill them for spite,” she answers the call, and Skip groans like he’s already accepted his fate.
“Hey, remind him that I have cancer and will be dead soon,” Knuckles says, hands raised. “His time will be wasted killing me. Zero satisfaction. Tell him Skip is more than willing to take my place.”
“Mother. Fucking. Fucker,” Skip laughs. “Using the cancer card? Sacrificing your brother?”
“Hey,” Knuckles shrugs unapologetically. “Spike won’t let me go out and have fun, so I get my entertainment however I can.”
What the hell did I walk into? My life used to be boring. Predictable… sort of. Safe… sort of.
Sure, my body sometimes decided to pull the plug and drop me, but I had routines. Patterns. Everything was carefully managed to try and avoid the unavoidable for as long as possible.
Now?
Every five minutes, something terrifying or bizarre or confusing hits me in the face like a freight train.
“Alright,” Skip says, sliding his hand to the small of my back. “Eli’s about to drop, so I’m getting him into bed before his body decides to shut down on me. We’ll be in our room if you need me.”
“How do you know I’m about to drop?” I ask as he guides me down the narrow hallway. “I don’t even know if I’m about to.”
“Your eyes were far away,” he says.
“That’s because my mind was far away,” I mutter.
“What were you thinking about?”
“You,” I admit. “Your family. The constant state of… unsafeness you all seem to live in.”
“And had I not stopped your train of thought,” he says, pausing at the fifth door on the right, “had you spiraled another thirty seconds… what would’ve happened?”
“Bite me,” I grumble, absolutely refusing to acknowledge he’s correct.
“Don’t tempt me, baby,” he murmurs. “I don’t nibble to play. I bite to claim.”
“Insane,” I whisper, walking past him and flopping onto the bed like my bones have officially filed for divorce from my body.
“You’re still not fully recovered,” Skip says as he kneels, loosening my shoelaces. “Those total blackouts seem like hell to bounce back from.”
“They are,” I admit, exhausted to my core. “I’ve only had a few in my whole life, but every time I wake up feeling like I ran a marathon. And trust me…that is not something I would ever willingly do.”
“Shame,” Skip sighs dramatically. “I had a marathon planned. Was gonna ask you to join me.”
“I don’t run,” I mumble.
“Who said anything about running, baby?” Skip’s voice dips low… husky, sinful, the kind of tone doctors should slap a warning label on.
“My kind of marathon involves a bed, hours of stamina, and snacks.”
“Snacks?” I blink.
“Of course,” he shrugs, sliding one large hand up my calf as he pulls off my sock. “What kind of monster do you think I am? You think I’m gonna ruin you for all other men and not feed you afterward?”
I choke. “R-ruin me?”
He looks up at me with that smug, heart-stopping grin.
“Utterly. Repeatedly. And completely,” Skip mutters. “Now climb up and scootch over. I’m exhausted.”
I don’t argue. Mostly because I need the space. My brain is running laps and losing every one of them.
I roll onto my side, pulling the blanket up to my chin like it might shield me from reality.
Because reality is… Mike was right.
I have seen Skip flirt with half the damn valley since the day I met him. I knew I shouldn’t let myself get swept up in it. And I’ve been stupid enough to catch feelings anyway.
He turns off the light, shuts the door, and slides into bed beside me.
That alone is enough to make my pulse crawl into dangerous territory.
“I think I should go home,” I whisper. “Back to my apartment.”
I start to sit up.
And just like that…I’m dragged against him, his chest pressed to my back, his arm wrapped around my waist like a steel bar.
“That’s not what you really want, Eli,” he murmurs against my hair. “I know Mike’s bullshit is eating at you.”
It is. But admitting it feels like peeling my skin back.
“He’s right, though, isn’t he?” My voice cracks. “I’m not… sexy. I’m not beautiful. You’ve been calling me cute, pretty… and that’s fine. But it’s not attraction, Skip. You’re intrigued by my condition, maybe you feel protective.”
I swallow.
“Mike’s right. I’m way below your level. So just… please stop flirting with me. I already have a stupid crush, and it’s cruel to give me hope that someone like you would want someone like me.”
Silence.
Then Skip gets out of bed.
Then he leaves.
And something inside me splinters.
I fight the sting in my eyes and fumble around for my shoes. Maybe if I leave fast enough…
There’s shouting in the hall.
“Brother, what are you…?”
“Don’t you fucking dare...dammit, Skip, STOP!”
A thud. A grunt.
And then Skip storms back in, shuts the door, climbs onto the bed, and yanks me back into his arms like he’s trying to fuse us together.
“What just happened?” I whisper.
“Just helped an old friend with his face,” he says darkly.
“Skip, did you punch Mike again? You can’t keep hitting him.”
Suddenly I’m on my back, Skip braced over me, big and warm and furious in the dark.
“Listen to me,” he growls. “No one…and I mean no one…talks down to you. No one scares you. No one touches you wrong. No one gets to fucking hurt you.”
His breath brushes my cheek.
“You think I’m into you because you’re ‘cute’? Baby…” His voice drops, low and rough. “That’s the part that kills me.”
My heart stutters.
“I’m obsessed with you,” he says, every word carved from truth I’m not sure I believe. “You. Not your condition. Not the fainting. You. I tried fighting it. Didn’t last long. Didn’t stand a fucking chance.”
He lowers himself until his weight settles warm and comforting over my body, grounding me instead of suffocating me.
“You think ‘cute’ means I don’t want you?” he murmurs, lips brushing my neck. “Eli… ‘cute’ is what ruins me. ‘Pretty’ is what makes me lose my mind.”
My breath trembles out.
“I’ve had sexy,” he says. “Plenty of it. Beautiful, bold, wild…I’ve had all of that, and none of it ever stuck.”