Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
Wes was right. It’s not good.
My eye is red and swollen and splotchy, and I can tell it’s only going to get worse. My chin is angry and bleeding in some spots, and it almost looks like I was scratched by a big cat.
“What am I going to do?” I whisper, my stomach sinking. “The speech.”
How am I going to give my speech on Tuesday with a black eye? As if my confidence wasn’t shaken enough already…
I feel Wes’s heat at my back. His hands settle gently on my shoulders, before easing down over the tops of my arms. It’s a surprisingly calming gesture, and I meet his eyes in the mirror, relieved to see that some of the darkness has lifted.
“It’s going to be okay. You’re still going to kill the speech. ”
Incapable of forming more words without crying, I press my lips together and nod.
Wes’s frown deepens, like he can tell I’m on the brink of tears, and he squeezes my arms. His voice is a soothing timbre when he says, “Shh, don’t cry, Ives.
It’s not as bad as you think. Everything will be okay.
I promise.” Swallowing, I nod again, and he manages an encouraging smile.
I latch on to it. “Now, I think you should wash those cuts on your chin before they get infected. Then we’ll bandage them up, okay? ”
I nod again, a full-blown bobblehead incapable of speech, and do as he says, clenching my teeth against the sting of soap in the open wounds.
He passes me a towel to pat my face dry, and then I turn to face him, my back to the edge of the bathroom counter.
Without warning, his hands close around my waist and he hoists me onto the granite in one effortless motion, bringing my face closer to his eye level.
I remain still as Wes applies the antibiotic cream to my skin, a look of absolute concentration on his own. His hands are gentle, his fingers almost graceful in the way they tend to my wounds, and I would feel at ease if my heart wasn’t racing at his proximity.
Closing my eyes as he brushes my hair back from my face to get a better look at the damage, I can’t help but inhale his scent—sandalwood and fresh laundry, with a sharp note of citrus. Masculine and comforting. Perfectly Wes.
“I just can’t believe…” he murmurs, then trails off like he’s rethinking whatever he was about to say.
My eyes flutter open. “What?” I whisper, searching his face like the rest of his sentence might be written there.
He shuts his eyes and exhales slowly, centering himself. When he opens them again, those dark irises bore into mine. “I just can’t believe someone would hurt you.”
Our gazes hold for a moment, and then I shift my focus down to the floor. “You’d be surprised,” I mutter, the comment slipping out before I can check it.
“What do you mean by that?” he asks softly.
Saving me from coming up with a response, Ben arrives at the door, holding a bag of frozen peas in one hand, a tall glass of water in the other, and an anxious expression on his face. “Where do you want these?”
Wes gestures to the counter beside my hip. “Can you put them there while I finish up? Thanks, man.”
“Sure thing, Doc. You’re in good hands, Ivy. This guy once fixed up my finger when I cut it in the kitchen. Probably would have needed stitches otherwise. He also saved Paul from choking sophomore year, and he nursed a bird back to health. It had a broken wing.”
I look at Wes, my eyebrows rising. “A bird?”
Wes shrugs, a smile playing at his mouth. “What else was I supposed to do? Leave him there?”
“Or she,” says Ben. “We never figured out the gender.”
I nearly crack a smile of my own, but wince when the wound on my chin starts to sting. “Ouch,” I murmur, making Wes frown. A deep crease forms between his brows, and I wish I could reach up and smooth it out.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” says Ben. “There are two more bags of frozen veggies in the freezer if you want to keep switching them out. Holler if you need anything, Ivy. We’ve got you.”
“Thanks,” I say quietly.
Ben nods and leaves the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. Wes continues his work in silence, and when he’s done, I mourn the loss of his touch. In Wes’s careful hands, I actually feel like someone worth holding.
“Okay, Ultimate Fighter.” He squeezes my knee before passing me the frozen peas. “You need to ice that eye for twenty minutes every hour.”
“Okay,” I mumble, wincing again as I press the bag to my eye.
“Which would you rather take, the bed or the couch? I’ll sleep on the other.”
“The couch,” I say adamantly. “I don’t think you’ll fit on it.”
He frowns, clearly unhappy with my answer. “Are you sure? You should really take the bed.”
“Wes. No. The couch is great.” When he looks like he’s going to protest again, I reach out and grab his wrist with my free hand. “Really.”
He sighs, but eventually nods. “Okay, couch it is. Do you want to take a shower? We’ve got shit water pressure, but a tropical citrus body wash that will blow you away. I’m not kidding. Makes my mouth water every time I use it.”
“I’m okay,” I tell him, glad to hear some of the usual verve back in his tone. “But…”
“But?” His gaze turns intent, eyes roaming my face as he tries to decipher what’s wrong. “What do you need?”
I clear my throat, feeling a bit awkward now. “Can I, um, borrow something to sleep in? A t-shirt and shorts, maybe? There’s no way I can sleep in jeans.”
“Done. Anything else? I don’t have a spare toothbrush, but one of the guys might. Want me to check?”
“If you don’t mind.”
“Of course I don’t mind.”
“I’m really sorry about this.”
“Five.”
I blink at him. “What?”
“From now on, you owe me a nickel for each additional apology. It’s only fair since they’re completely unnecessary.”
“But—”
He holds up a finger. “No buts. Buts earn me a dime. You’re up to fifteen cents already. Yikes.”
I would roll my eyes if not for the vegetables pressed to my face. “Fine.”
“If you want to head up to my room, I’ll get you what you need and meet you in there in a sec.”
“Sure. Thank you.”
He smiles, finally showing off the dimples that have been hiding all night, and I’m instantly hypnotized. “You’re more than welcome.”
Leaving the bathroom, I climb the stairs to Wes’s bedroom. Exhaustion weighs me down, and the bed looks fluffy and amazing, but I avoid it. I collapse in his office chair, staring blankly at the wall. My emotions are strangely numb, my attention centered on the pain in my face.
It’s not long before the hallway floorboards creak with his weight, and then Wes appears in the door, holding up a packaged toothbrush.
“World’s best toothbrush,” he says, tossing it to me. He crosses over to the dresser and combs through the second drawer, pulling out a t-shirt, shorts, and a sweatshirt. He tosses those to me as well. “World’s best pajamas.”
“I don’t think these shorts will fit,” I say skeptically, holding them out in front of me.
“They have a draw string. Maybe you can tie it tight.”
“I’ll try…”
He pulls a bottle of Advil out of his back pocket, rattling it before passing it to me. “Almost forgot the world’s best pills. For the pain and the swelling.”
“Thanks,” I mutter.
Wes vacates the room to give me privacy, easing the door shut behind him. For a moment, I debate turning the lock, but then my tired mind remembers that I trust Wes.
Getting to my feet, I strip off my sweater, leaving on my bra as I pull Wes’s t-shirt and sweatshirt over my head. They fall to my knees, enormously oversized, but I don’t mind that too much. They’re comfortable, and they smell like Wes.
The shorts, however, are a different story.
I slip them up my legs and tie the drawstring as tight as possible, relieved when they stay on my hips.
I’m sure I must look absurd, and my mismatched socks only add to the insanity—one white with red stripes, one pink with purple tulips.
Too weary to care at this point, I slump back in his office chair, my eyes fixating on the bed again.
It looks cozy—really cozy—and I wonder if laying on it would calm the adrenaline buzzing through my body. I quickly dismiss the thought.
The soft knock against the door urges me to my feet. “You decent?”
“I’m good,” I say, and Wes peeks his head in. His eyes rake over me from head to toe, his mouth tugging up at the corner like he’s trying to hold back a smile. “Don’t laugh. I look ridiculous.”
“You’re like a mini-me.”
“Stop,” I whine.
His eyes narrow in on my socks, and I scrunch my toes. “Laundry day?”
“I was wearing boots. No one saw them.”
Snickering, he pushes the door open further and leans against the frame with his arms crossed. My eyes snag on the way the sculpted muscles of his biceps bunch beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, and I wish he could change into some baggier clothes.
“So, how are you feeling?” he asks, drawing my attention back to his face. “Tired? Ready for bed?”
“I am tired,” I say, “but honestly, I don’t think I could sleep if I tried.” Despite how drained I feel from the night’s events, adrenaline still rushes through me, leaving my body wired.
He nods sympathetically. “Did you guys ever watch The Two Towers that night?”
It takes a moment for me to realize that he’s talking about the night of his birthday party, when Quinn and I told him we were going home. “No, we ended up going straight to bed.”
He seems to debate his next words. “Would you want to watch it?”
I blink at him. “Aren’t your roommates watching something?”
“Nah, they went to their rooms.”
I shift my weight, fighting the urge to collapse on his bed.
“Are you sure? I don’t want to disrupt your night.
Well, more than I already have.” I gesture to the open laptop on his desk, books and papers sprawled about beside it.
His giant thermos sits off to the left, and I’d bet money it’s filled with coffee despite the late hour.
“It looks like you were in the middle of work.”