5. Chapter 5
Chapter 5
Maci
I do as I’m told and rest, napping off the remaining anesthesia and running through tasks on my phone. I text Randi and Liv to give them a short version of what happened.
Thankfully, I’m not a complete invalid, because I can get to and from the bathroom on my own, and I walk up and down the hall twice before falling back into the bed.
Sutton comes in periodically, and for good around dinner. “Do you want to head into the house for dinner, or eat here?” He stands in the bathroom door, drying his hands.
“This is you saving me from questions, isn’t it?” I dangle my legs from the side of the bed.
He doesn’t respond.
“Are you going to feed me?” I ask, quirking an eyebrow and trying to elicit some sort of reaction.
His eyes flash, and I press my lips together to squash a grin. “I have a better idea,” he says. “I’ll be back in a few.” He winks and exits the room before I have time to ask any questions.
My phone vibrates on the nightstand.
Izzy:
How’s our favorite patient?
Me:
I think I’m already going stir crazy.
I could never be bedridden.
If that ever happens, please help me with assisted suicide.
Izzy:
Well that escalated quickly.
Leah:
I’ll help.
Me:
Ride or die. kiss emoji
Izzy:
We’ll stop by with breakfast tomorrow.
Leah:
Taco Tuesday!
Me:
I’ll be the one with a limp and dirty hair.
And tomorrow is Monday.
I set my phone on the nightstand and head into the bathroom to clean up. When I open the door, Sutton is waiting for me. His shoulder is pressed against the doorframe, and he extends a hand to me.
It’s warm around my own. “Where are we going?”
“Not far.” He already looks proud, and I have no idea what’s going on. Thankfully, I don’t have to wait long. Outside of the hallway entrance is a tiny card table and two folding chairs.
I gape. “Is this a date?”
“Just thought you could use some fresh air.” He helps me to a chair before sitting across from me.
For now, we seem to be skirting the big issues because he asks, “How was lunch with your mom?”
Lunch with Stephanie may have only been yesterday, but it feels like a lifetime ago.
The bite of meatloaf I take gives me a chance to organize my thoughts. Sharing how she told me that her love was clouded by pain and that my life isn’t in Bull Creek makes me tense. I’m good at compartmentalizing most of the time, something I’m realizing more and more that I got from my mother. Discussing it just makes everything raw and real.
“Not great, but that’s no surprise. She tried to convince me not to stay in Bull Creek.”
His focus turns wholly to me. “Do you need convincing?”
“I don’t make my decisions with input from her. I do plan to stay, though. She told me that she’s not contesting the will, and Randi’s already told me she isn’t keeping Nana’s house. So I talked to her about turning it into a bed and breakfast, and a photography studio.”
A new kind of smile fills Sutton’s face. It’s soft, bringing a youthful innocence to him. “That’s a great idea.”
“Yeah?” I didn’t make the decision out of a need for Sutton’s approval, but knowing he thinks it’s a good idea does increase my confidence. “I don’t need the whole house, no one does apparently, but it has so much love left to share.”
His lips purse. “You plan to live there?”
“For now. Well, once I’m healed.”
He hums an acknowledgment, but the guarded look in his eyes tells me there’s something I’m missing.
After we finish eating, Sutton helps me back into the bedroom and onto the bed, leaving to break down our dinner space. I lean against the handmade bedframe, taking in its woven cedar branches again.
I wonder what else he’s made here.
I’m silently jealous when Sutton comes back and disappears into the bathroom to shower. Partly because I’d rather he at least leave the door open so I get some eye candy, but more so because I feel disgusting and I’m ready to be fully clean again.
Instead, he surprises me, returning from the bathroom with a large bowl of warm water and a washcloth. He sets both on the side table. “I know you feel dirty. It’s soapy water. Do you want some help?” He studies me cautiously. Like I’m breakable. I’m equal parts touched and frustrated. I worked so hard not to be a victim again.
My heart aches at the kindness, but I’m not prepared to let him help me. “I’ll work on it while you shower.”
He purses his lips to one side. “Sure. Just don’t overdo it.”
While Sutton enjoys the shower, I wipe down my face and neck before sliding my thin sweater off, cleaning up my arms and chest. The rest will have to wait for a full shower.
When he’s dressed, Sutton brings a shirt to my side of the bed. His eyes linger a moment on the gauze taped to my side, his jaw ticking. Whatever he wants to say doesn’t come.
“This will be soft to sleep in, if you want.” He waits for my nod and helps me into the fresh black tee, dousing me in his signature leather and hay scent.
“Lay back.” As usual, all of his instructions are short but thoughtful. He removes my pants and tucks me into the plush bed. My eyes fall closed as I slip into the familiarity of the many pillows.
There’s a click, and then darkness covers the room. The bed dips as he slides in next to me. One strong arm reaches beneath me gently, and he pulls me into him, wrapping me up in his heat. His lips are warm against my temple, and before long, the combination of his steady breaths and the overwhelming fatigue in my body lull me to sleep.
Unlike previous nights curled into Sutton’s arms, my rest is fitful. The throbbing from my wound wakes me occasionally, and when I’m asleep, nightmares plague me. Colt’s angry face as he lunged, the sound of the gun going off, the moment his knife pierced my abdomen; all of it plays out on a movie screen in my mind.
Each time I startle awake, I have to remind myself where I am as I search the darkness for a threat. The rapid beating of my heart is nearly painful. Repeatedly, I snuggle deeper into Sutton’s chest and work to right my breathing.
The final time I fall back asleep, I’m once again telling Colt it doesn’t have to be this way when he lunges at me. The gun goes off high and to the right of him. He smashes into me, the knife penetrates my side, and vile things spill from his mouth against my ear. I fight through the searing pain of the blade to wrestle my arm free. Somehow, the gun goes off again, and I’m crashing backward to the ground. Colt grunts loudly and stumbles my way before falling partially and then collapsing atop me. His hands scrape feebly on the ground, but he never gains traction. He stills and I drop the gun, trying to push myself out from under him. His limp body seems to gain weight the longer he lays on me.
I wake soaked in sweat and panting. A warm hand cups my face, and I shove away from the source, scrambling backward on the bed.
“Maci, wait—” Sutton grunts as one of my feet makes contact with his ribcage right before I fall off the bed onto the floor. “Shit!”
The amber light of his bedside lamp illuminates the space. Before my eyes have adjusted, he rounds the bed quickly and drops to the floor in front of me. “Maci, it’s me.”
“I know.” I pant and lean against the wall of the closet. “I’m sorry.” My throat feels thick, my side is screaming, and I just kicked the man I love in the ribs.
He cradles my face in his hands, studying me. “Why are you apologizing to me?”
It’s an effort not to shriek at him when I respond. “I just kicked you!”
My favorite twitch at the corner of his lips hints that he’s hiding a smirk. “It’s ok, Firecracker. Don’t apologize.” His hands leave my face to grasp mine, which rest on my drawn knees. “I’m going to put you back where you belong now.”
I nod with a sad smile. Gently, he slides one arm under my legs and one behind my back, but he’s on the wrong side to put me into the bed. Instead, he carries me to his side and crawls in on his knees, tucking me against his warm chest.
He’s quiet while our breathing settles, playing with my hair. Hair that’s probably covered in the mixed blood of myself and my attacker. Bile fills my stomach.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I don’t respond at first. I can’t.
In true Sutton fashion, he just waits. My eyes burn with unshed tears and my throat begins to close again. I untangle myself from his arms and slowly push up to sitting. Somehow, I manage not to wince or audibly complain about the ache in my side, but it’s at the expense of my teeth, which are firmly clenched together.
Sutton very obviously wants to help me but refrains. He adjusts the pillows behind me and rolls onto his side, watching me.
“Nightmares.” It seems like such a childish response. Images from my dreams, from my experience, loop in my mind.
His hand rubs over my covered legs.
I lick my lips. “I need to take a shower.”
“Let me help you.” He sits up quickly.
“Sutton.”
“Maci.” His tone leaves little room for negotiating, and I love him all the more for it, but I need to be alone. “You’re not even supposed to be showering yet, but I know better than to think I can talk to you out of it. At least let me help you.”
“Please.” I caress his face, the stubble there a familiar sensation, soothing in its scrape against my hand. He leans into my touch. “Please,” I repeat.
He scrubs a hand over his face and pushes back his disheveled, sandy hair. “Ok, but I really don’t like this. I’m going to help you into the bathroom and be waiting out here when you’re done.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less, Cowboy.”
The tightness in his face softens minimally.
I’m grateful for his assistance as my body has gone somewhat stiff, and the ache in my stomach muscles makes it hard to stand fully. A whisper of doubt creeps through my mind, but I ignore it. It doesn’t matter that it’s only been a day since someone tried to kill me. I need to do this.
Sutton turns the shower on before he leaves the bathroom, hanging a fresh towel on the rack closest to the glass door. He pauses, looking me over with a pained expression before he departs.
I’m motionless at first. Steam fills the enclosed space. Using as few movements as possible, I slip my underwear off my hips, and they fall easily to the floor. The shirt is going to be another beast.
Getting my right arm loose isn’t a problem, but the left tugs at my wound and I hiss, pulling it into the shirt. I focus on my breathing as emotions and pain war within me, shoving the tee off my head.
Through the mirror, I examine the gauze. It’s easier to look there. A soft entry to visualizing what’s happened to me. My chest tightens, an unpleasant electric energy pulsing through me. I shut my eyes to calm my rolling stomach.
Colt’s heavy breathing crashes through my head. I can practically feel the flames from the fire pit licking the air. A phantom twinge yanks at the sutured area, like being stabbed a second time.
I drop my head forward, bracing myself against the cool countertop with both hands, before finally giving in and looking directly at the covered space on my body.
It isn’t bloody from the outside. The adhesive from the tape holds strong, tugging as I slowly peel it from the sensitive skin. Although I would love nothing more than to rip this shit off and get it over with, something tells me that won’t help the pain any, and it may risk the stitches.
When the bandage is fully removed, I take in the damage. My skin is red and puckered around the stitched puncture, but it’s nothing worrisome.
Leading with my back into the water, I finally step into the spray. The warmth is appreciated, but the water trickling over the front of my body stings when it reaches the stitches. Another hiss escapes my mouth.
Apparently, I’m part snake now.
I fill my lungs almost to the point of discomfort before I lean my head back, soaking my hair through. When I right my head and glance down, pink swirls in the water and disappears down the drain. My stomach turns. Again, I push it away and focus on one task at a time.
The comfort that fills me when I pop open Sutton’s shampoo and inhale his scent is instant. Relief, like coming home. Ironically, this all started with a homecoming. One that was painful in a different way.
It’s a feat to wash my hair with mostly one arm, but I use my left when entirely necessary and eventually manage to rinse. The soapy water runs over my healing wound, and I scrub too hard and for too long over the rest of my body, trying to rid myself of the shame and disgust that live inside me now.
I would love to scrub the stitched area from the inside out. To eradicate any part of Colt that managed to infiltrate my body without my permission, and even the parts that I allowed willingly.
Another wave of nausea passes through me. Disgust at myself, disgust at the situation, disgust at the revelations.
When I finally exit the shower, I pat softly at my tender side before drying the rest of my body.
All of my clothes are sitting in the bottom of Sutton’s closet. Something I think he’s been counting on while I’ve been hiding in here. I wrap the towel loosely around me, not bothering to dry my sopping hair, and open the bathroom door.
As promised, Sutton sits on my side of the bed, facing me. He’s always been attentive, knowing just what I need when I need it, or even before I’ve realized. But in this moment, he looks hesitant, and that’s painful in a new way.
“Hi.” I lean against the doorframe.
He smirks and moves toward me, wearing only his boxer briefs. “Hi, yourself.”
I take my time looking him over.
He toys with the tangled strands of my hair as it drips onto the towel around my body. “I guess you want to get dressed now.”
“Were you planning to hold my clothes hostage?”
“No. Just making sure you behave.”
I cock an eyebrow. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”
His face turns serious, and he encroaches on me against the doorframe. “Yes.”
His lips brush mine in a whisper of a kiss, and I immediately want more. I know better, though. He’s not giving in.
“I’m going to help you with a fresh bandage and clothes, and then I’m going to get you coffee.”
My right hand flies to my chest dramatically and I gasp. “My hero!”
Something crosses his face, but he schools it quickly and shakes his head. “Come on.”
He chaperones me to the bed, seating me near the head so I can point out clothing for the day. Despite my firm belief that it’s unwarranted, I allow him to dress me. Something in his worried eyes tells me he needs it more than me.
Then he sets to brushing my hair, ignoring all of my refusals, before situating me back onto the bed with the excessive pillows stuffed around me.
“Now coffee,” he says quietly.
I need no more explanation than that, letting my eyes fall closed as he kisses my forehead. I’m so lucky he’s mine.