7. Cole #2
Opening the first aid kit, I dug out the supplies needed to treat her open wound.
I ripped the package containing an antiseptic wipe before bringing it an inch away from her split skin. “This is going to sting,” I warned.
There was a tiny hiss that slipped past her lips when I made contact.
“Sorry,” I mumbled, feeling like an absolute asshole for causing her more pain.
“It’s fine,” Bridget gritted out.
“Nothing about this is fine.”
Her eyes lifted, sadness written in their emerald depths. “As strange as it sounds, getting knocked out was the wake-up call I needed.”
I reared back. “You lost consciousness?”
Anxiety flooded my system at her refusal to get checked out by a doctor. Best case, she sustained a concussion from whatever that asshole had done to her tonight. Worst case, she suffered a brain bleed, putting her life in danger.
I couldn’t lose her, not after I’d just gotten her back.
She lifted one hand to where I gently worked to clean the gash on her face. “Last thing I remember is him throwing me across the room. When I woke up, I was on the ground next to an overturned nightstand that was smeared with blood. I’m guessing I hit the corner on my way down.”
My blood pressure spiked.
He threw her across the room?
A haze of red filled my vision as a murderous rage permeated every cell in my body, and it took everything in me to keep my expression neutral so as not to scare Bridget.
But make no mistake, that motherfucker’s days were numbered. Cop or not, I would ensure he paid for what he’d done to her tonight.
Focusing on the task at hand, I surveyed the split skin above Bridget’s eyebrow. “This is pretty deep. Probably needs stitches.”
“Butterfly bandages are fine if you have them.”
I let out a grunt of displeasure. “It’ll take longer to heal that way and leave a raised scar. If we go to the hosp—”
She pressed two hands on my chest, forcing me backward. “I said no, Cole.”
“What if I call the team doc for the Surf? He stitches us up on the fly all the time.”
Bridget shook her head. “The fewer people who know I’m here, the better.”
While it made me feel a hundred feet tall that, despite our past, she’d chosen to trust me in this moment of extreme vulnerability, I hated that she refused to let me care for her properly.
I cupped her cheek. “I don’t want you to see a reminder of this night every time you look in the mirror.”
Her lips folded inward. “There’ll be a scar either way.”
True, but a plastic surgeon could minimize its impact on her appearance.
“All right. You win,” I conceded, though I wasn’t the least bit happy about it.
Before I could grab the bandages needed to close her wound, a hoarse scream pierced the air. There was barely time to react before her knees jerked upward, catching me right in the balls.
All the air was forced from my lungs, and I doubled over at the sudden burst of pain that made me see stars.
Cupping my sore junk with one hand, I gripped the kitchen island with the other to remain upright. In a voice that came out an octave higher than normal, I wheezed, “What is it? What’s wrong?”
When I glanced up, Bridget was trembling so hard that her teeth chattered.
“S-something touched m-my foot.”
Almost as if on cue, I felt the softness of fur against my leg, and I let out a breath. “Oh, that’s just my cat.”
Instantly, a flush of pink rose up her neck. Placing a hand over her face, she groaned. “Can we pretend that didn’t happen?”
“Hey.” I tugged on her wrist, uncovering her face. “You’ve been to hell and back tonight. It’s understandable that you’d be on edge.”
Her eyes lifted to the ceiling. “I feel so silly.”
Bending down, I scooped up my pet. “Bridget, meet Cinder.”
As she lowered her gaze, the softest smile touched her lips. “Cute name for a dark gray cat.”
“I thought so.” I scratched under the feline’s chin, and his chest began to vibrate as he purred. “Would you like to hold him?”
“Yes, please.”
Without hesitation, I placed Cinder on her lap. She ran a hand down his back in long strokes, and the tension in her muscles melted away.
That’s a good boy, Cinder.
“He’s a sweet little thing,” Bridget remarked as I went back to work placing the bandages above her eyebrow. “How long have you had him?”
“Just shy of two years. Crew made a strong case for a dog, but given how much we travel, a cat seemed like the better option.”
“How is Crew?”
I huffed out a laugh. “About the same as the last time you saw him. He hasn’t matured much past the age of nineteen.”
“I always wondered what went down in the womb that he got your share of silliness and you absorbed what was supposed to be his capacity for seriousness.”
Affixing the last of the butterfly strips, I replied, “Wish I could tell you, but my memory doesn’t go back that far.”
She lifted a shoulder. “Guess it’ll just have to remain one of life’s greatest mysteries, then. Just like the Loch Ness Monster and the Bermuda Triangle.”
A chuckle broke free from my chest. The moment of levity was much needed, and it was a relief to see that bastard hadn’t beaten the sense of humor out of her.
“All done,” I declared, my fingers trailing down the side of her face.
Bridget blinked up at me, her eyes glassy. “Thank you.”
I helped ease her off the stool, with Cinder tucked tight to her chest. “Let me show you the guest room.”
With a gentle grip on her elbow, I guided her out of the kitchen, and we slowly trekked up the stairs, pausing every few steps when the pain grew too great for one or both of us.
The room across the hall from mine was the only bedroom beside the primary suite that was furnished, and I pushed through the door, flicking on the light.
“There’s an ensuite with a medicine cabinet behind the mirror. Help yourself to any pain relievers you might need. If you want to take a shower, you can, but try to keep your bandages dry.”
She set Cinder down, and he hopped onto the queen-sized mattress, making himself at home.
I hitched a thumb over my shoulder. “I’m right across the hall if you need anything at all.”
Bridget shifted on her feet, tugging on the oversized sweatshirt she wore. Shyly, she peeked up at me through thick black lashes. “Do you have any clothes I can borrow to sleep in? I wasn’t sure how long I had before Aiden came back, so I didn’t want to waste any time packing a bag.”
Jesus. She’d fled with nothing more than the clothes on her back; that’s how determined she was to make her escape.
God, I was so fucking proud of her for getting out.
Swallowing around the lump formed in my throat, I nodded. “Yeah. Be back in a minute.”
I turned on my heel, striding across the hall and pulling open a dresser drawer to snag a T-shirt and pajama pants. Upon my return to the guest room, I handed over the garments to Bridget.
She clutched them to her chest, sniffling as she ducked her head in gratitude. “I feel like I’m going to wear these words out, but thank you.”
I refrained from telling her there was no need to thank me for doing the right thing. If she needed the comfort of expressing her appreciation, I wasn’t going to rob her of that.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” I promised.
Voice watery, she said, “Night, Cole.”
Latching the door behind me, I pressed my forehead to the wooden surface.
As if I wasn’t tortured enough by her current circumstances, the sound of furniture being moved across the guest room to barricade the door reached my ears, and it truly sank in how terrified Bridget was of her scumbag ex-boyfriend.
Did she really believe I would let him get to her?
He’d have to kill me first because the only way he’d ever be able to lay a hand on her again was over my dead body.
She’d come to me for protection, and that’s what she was going to get.
With a barely contained groan, I slid down the wall outside her bedroom, prepared to stand—or rather, sit—guard until the sun came up.
While I couldn’t go back and change the past, I was here now. And I was bound and determined to finally make good on my promise to Russ.