Chapter Sixteen
I lay in bed that night, Lily in a travel cot beside me, a gun under my pillow, and mace on the bedside unit beside my cell. The door has been locked; I triple checked that and all the windows too, with the security system set, but still, I can’t sleep.
Every time I close my eyes, I see the shooting and hear the bullets hitting the things around me. I see the blood on Dean and hear Lily’s cries. And if I’m not seeing that, I’m imagining whoever tried to kill us today breaking into my house to finish the job. It’s too much. I don’t feel safe.
I hadn’t planned on leaving the hospital so soon.
I’d felt safe inside that room with Dean, but then his probing started, his need to know, to see it all, and I fled.
It would be so easy to bare it all, and that’s why I can’t.
All it takes is one person knowing; secrets don’t stay secret if they’re spoken outside of your own head.
And if Dean knows, if he finds out, what’s stopping him from telling everyone else?
What happens when that word spreads and spreads?
My life gets dangled like a carrot for the monster to find.
Eventually, I pass out, but the sleep is so far from restful that it would have been better if I hadn’t slept at all. I move through my morning routine with Lily, feeding her, bathing, and dressing her, but just before I’m about to leave, my cell buzzes with a call.
Dean’s name flashes on the screen, and I immediately answer.
“Everything okay?” I rush out, my worry making my voice shake.
“Fine,” He grunts, “I’m being discharged in the next hour. Meet me at the house.”
I don’t get a chance to respond before the line goes dead.
A pang of guilt works through me.
We’re not friends, Dean.
It shouldn’t hurt for him to treat me just like I told him to.
“You hear that?” I coo to Lily as I lift her from the blanket on the floor, “Daddy’s coming home.”
I stand awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen, watching the car parked at the front of the driveway.
It’s Killian’s car, and I can just about make out their shapes in the front seats.
I’ve been here almost thirty minutes; Lily is napping, and I cleaned even though it was already spotless.
Something I’ve noticed with him. Everything is clean, tidy, and put away, but I still ran a duster around and found no dust, and still vacuumed and mopped the already spotless floors.
The door slams, and Killian walks around to help his brother from the car while carrying a bag full of supplies from the hospital.
Dean looks tired, not at all like the man I’ve come to know in the past week.
His hair is disheveled, his eyes tired. He’s in a pair of gray sweats and a white tee, arm in the sling the doctors have ordered him to wear.
I rush to the door to get it open for them before they get there, and when Dean sees me, something loosens in his shoulders.
Killian doesn’t appear to notice it, but I do.
“How do you feel?” I ask, nibbling on the corner of my lip. His dark eyes drop to it before they jump back up.
“Like I got shot,” He grumbles.
I move to the side with a wince, letting the two of them pass and shut the door behind them, turning the lock.
“Where’s Lily?” Dean asks with his back to me.
“Napping,” I explain, “Here, let me take that.” I offer to Killian, who hands me the bag. Brushing past them, I head into the kitchen and empty the contents, trying to keep my expression neutral at the number of drugs now on the counter.
“The doctors wrote down when and what he needs to take,” Killian hands me a slip of paper. “Can you make sure he takes them?”
“I’m not taking that shit,” Dean grumbles and pushes away from his brother, “I’m going to see my daughter.”
“Should you be alone?” I move to follow.
“I haven’t had a minute’s peace in forty-eight hours, just give me a goddamn second.”
“Dean,” Killian scolds.
“Fuck off,” Dean snaps before he takes himself out of the room, and I listen to his steps as he trudges up to Lily’s bedroom.
“Just give him five,” Killian sighs, “He doesn’t do well in these situations.”
“What situations?” I cock my head at Savannah’s guy. He’s older, with age lining the spaces at the edges of his eyes.
“Needing to be looked after,” He huffs, “I’ve got to run, but if you need anything or anything goes down, here’s my number. You can call Savannah, too.” He slides a torn piece of paper toward me where black ink has been scrawled.
“Got it, thanks,” I try for a smile.
“He likes you,” Killian says as he passes.
I laugh at that, “Not so sure on that, but I’m not here to be liked by him.”
“And that’s exactly why he does,” Killian chuckles before he lets himself out.
I lock the door behind him and head to the stairs, stopping at the bottom step as I listen.
I can hear the chair in Lily’s room rocking gently, but I don’t hear him directly, so listening to Killian’s advice, I give him his time and occupy myself making coffee for us both.
When it’s brewed and ready, I take his mug up to him, finding him in the rocking chair across from Lily’s crib, where she still sleeps soundly, the white noise machine filling the room with sound. His dark eyes flick to me.
“Here,” I place it on the dresser and step back, “Do you need anything else?”
My skin prickles as he drags his eyes down me, noting the tight denim jeans I opted to wear and an orange sweater with some brown boots.
“No suit today?” He cocks his head.
“Didn’t have time to change,” I tug at the hem of my sweater, “Won’t happen again.”
A knot forms between his brows. “Why?”
“Because this isn’t professional?” It comes out like a question.
“You’re not signing contracts all day,” His eyes do another light perusal, “This suits you far better.”
A smile touches my lips. “And you look good in sweats,” I start to make for the door, “But I doubt you’ll wear them every day either.”
His warm chuckle zaps down my spine as I pull the door closed on my way out. My cheeks are burning the entire way down the stairs, stomach knotting with a riot of butterflies. Why the fuck am I flirting?
He makes me fucking crazy.
I wrap my hands around my coffee mug and take a deep breath, attempting to settle the nerves rattling around inside my stomach. Did I not lay down the rules pretty clearly yesterday?
“And you look good in sweats,” I mimic my voice with added pitch and roll my eyes at myself. “How about we don’t flirt with our boss?”
“You were flirting?” Dean leans his good arm against the door frame and throws me a roguish smirk, some of that brooding darkness dissipating from his eyes.
My cheeks burn hotter than the scalding coffee in my mug.
“Good to know,” Dean continues, like I’m not currently melting into the countertop.
“That’s not what I meant,” I stammer out.
“No?” That damn grin is still on his face, making him far too appealing. I read a lot, romances mainly, and I never got it when the guys in them did that smirk and the female main characters melted into puddles, but I get it now.
I fucking get it.
“What did you mean then?” He rounds the counter toward me, still disheveled, still in those sweats.
“I was just trying to make you feel better, obviously,” I move around the counter in the opposite direction.
“But I thought we weren’t friends?” He counters, “Only friends make each other feel better.”
“No,” I shake my head.
“So, you’ll tell anyone that they look good?”
Fuck.
Suddenly, the monitor on the counter blares to life, Lily’s cry startling me. “I’ve got it!” I yell before darting for the stairs, taking them two at a time to get away.
My blood is on fire, my skin prickling, while my heart rivals that of a thousand galloping horses.
I let myself into Lily’s room and go straight to her, lifting her out of the crib to cradle her against me.
She continues to cry, even as I rock her, which usually helps when she wakes up so suddenly from her nap.
Her cheeks look a little red, and her nose a little runny, and when I press the back of my hand to her forehead, she feels too warm.
Shit.
Dean and the flirting forgotten, I rush back downstairs, heading straight for the medicine drawer in the kitchen to pull out the forehead thermometer, switching it on.
“What’s wrong?” Any playfulness falls from Dean.
“I don’t know,” I wait for the thermometer to get a reading, and when it flashes red and shows a reading of a hundred point four, I mutter. “Fuck.”
“What!?” Dean demands.
“She’s sick,” I do the thermometer again to double check, and it comes back with the same reading. “Do you have Tylenol?”
He spins to the drawer and yanks it open with far more force than necessary before he starts to shove things out of the way and finds the Tylenol.
I measure out the dosage before I set it down and prepare a bottle for her, so I can do both at the same time.
Dean hovers behind me, his warmth pressing into my back, the scent that is so distinctively him shoving up my nose.
It’s clean but masculine, like sandalwood and something spicier, turning the air thick.
I lower onto the couch and adjust Lily so I can coax the end of the syringe into her mouth to dispense the thick medicine. I only manage to get half the dose into her when she lets out a scream, her reddened cheeks turning brighter.
“Here,” Dean attempts to get her from me.
“No,” I snap at him, “You’ll hurt yourself.”
“I don’t give a shit!”
“I do,” I growl.
His eyes narrow. “Just give her to me.”
“You can hover all you like,” I pass him the syringe, “But you can’t do anything, Dean. Please, just let me handle this.”
He holds the syringe, and I can tell by the brooding look on his face he doesn’t like to lose, but he also knows I’m right.
How is he meant to hold and feed her when he doesn’t even have use of both of his arms?
I offer up the bottle to Lily’s mouth, which she refuses a few times before she decides to take it.
“Do I need to call the doc?” Dean watches intently; his brow furrowed.
“Not yet,” I whisper so I don’t disturb the somewhat precarious situation.
“She’s just a baby, are you sure?” He leans in closer, his breath whispering against the shell of my ear.
“Babies get sick,” My voice comes out a little strained, my spine stiffening with his proximity. “Fevers will make anyone cranky.”
He lets out a disgruntled sound but doesn’t let up on his observations, watching Lily take half her bottle before she refuses the rest, but I manage to get the rest of her medicine into her, which should help ease her fever.
I let her fall back to sleep in my arms, settling onto the couch with Dean right at my side, his shoulder touching mine.
When twenty minutes pass, I glance at the clock.
“It’s time for your meds too,” I tell him quietly.
“I told you I’m not taking them,” He grumbles.
I roll my eyes at him. “You’re an adult, I can’t force you to take the pills the doctor prescribed, but I don’t want to hear a single moan from you if that’s what you decide.”
He scoffs, “Trust me, Butterfly, I’ve been through far worse than this. I’m no stranger to pain.”
But his words don’t truly register when my brain is still processing what he just called me.
Butterfly.