14. Rena #4
I ducked under his arm and waved at his family, who were still congregated in the dining area, before helping him back toward the room we’d been in that morning.
“Where you going?” Chance asked a little breathlessly.
“Our room.”
He pointed silently in the opposite direction.
“Well, it’s not my fault that this house is so big,” I grumbled.
“It’s laid out like a plus sign,” he replied dubiously. “There are only four directions you could possibly go.”
I didn’t bother replying as I helped him along.
“Everyone has their own wing,” he explained breathlessly. I was pretty sure he was trying to distract himself more than teach me anything. “We’re in Josiah’s wing. They’re all separated by these sunroom hallway things.”
“Yes, very interesting,” I replied.
“Gods, you were made for me,” he said with a silent little chuckle as we finally reached our room.
“Lucky you,” I murmured, helping him onto the bed. “I really hope you don’t have to pee because I don’t think you can make it to the bathroom again.”
“I’m good, don’t worry,” he said, lying down with a groan. “Thanks for the help.”
“You’re welcome,” I replied, suddenly overcome with a rush of tenderness as I brushed his hair back from his face. He’d braided it back the night before, and now pieces of it had escaped, leaving it messy and wild. “I’ll be back.”
“I hate to fucking ask?—”
“What?”
“Could you grab me a water while you’re out there?” he asked in a rush. “Tap is fine. I should’ve grabbed it before we came in here.”
“Sure. Anything else?”
“Just you,” he mumbled, throwing his arm over his eyes.
I left him—assuming that he’d probably be asleep before I even made it back with the water—and went searching for a bathroom.
It took a while to find because I didn’t want to open doors that were closed, so I had to find one that was open.
By the time I got Chance’s water and made it back to the bedroom, he’d pulled off the overalls, and they were lying on the floor beside the bed.
“I could’ve helped you with those,” I announced as I entered the room. “Why didn’t you wait?”
“I only want you to undress me if it’s sexy,” he complained. “And let me tell you, that”—he gestured tiredly to the overalls—“was not sexy.”
“You know what else won’t be sexy?” I asked, setting the water on the nightstand. “When I’m puking or shitting myself from food poisoning.”
Chance stared at me in confusion as I rounded the bed and took off my sweatshirt.
“Or when I’ve got cramps. Or when I snore. Or when I forget to put on deodorant and don’t realize until it’s too late.” I dropped my pants to the floor and slid beneath the covers. “There’s going to be a lot of unsexy parts.”
“Maybe we should rethink the whole thing,” he replied in mock horror. “If you’re already planning on shitting yourself…”
“Ha,” I shot back flatly. “Ha.”
“You said it, not me.” He lifted his hands like he was surrendering.
“Is it impossible for you to be serious?” I asked in exasperation.
“Impossible, no,” he said thoughtfully. “Improbable, maybe.”
“You’re in a mood,” I griped. “I’m going to sleep.”
“Oh, come on, don’t be mad,” he cajoled. “Sorry, I am in a mood. What’s up? You want to be serious? I’ll be serious. I didn’t want you to see me struggling to take the fucking overalls off, okay? I fucking hate being sick.”
“You’re not sick, you’re wounded.”
“Same thing.”
“Not the same thing,” I argued. “You were wounded saving like a hundred people. I think you can milk that for a few days, at least.”
Chance stared at the ceiling and inhaled a long breath before letting it out again.
“I didn’t fucking see him,” he said finally. “We were almost to the godsdamned trucks, and I didn’t see him until the muzzle flash.”
“Okay?”
“I should’ve seen him.”
I wasn’t sure what to say, so I just blurted the first thing that came to mind. “Sounds like an ego problem.”
Chance’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “I thought we were being serious,” he said accusingly.
“What makes you think I’m not serious?”
“They could’ve died,” he said angrily. “I didn’t see him. He shot me, but he could’ve shot any of those Vampires counting on me to keep them safe.”
“He didn’t.”
“He could’ve.”
“He didn’t.”
“Are you always like this?”
“Yes.”
He let out a frustrated breath.
“You saw the muzzle flash and then what?” I asked. “What did you do?”
“I shot him,” he replied, like the answer was obvious.
“Then what happened?”
“No fucking idea, since I was flat on my back and then my dad and Elgin showed up.”
“So you’re saying that you were shot, and you took care of the shooter as you fell?”
“Something like that.”
I just stared at him.
“Fine,” he finally grumbled. “But I’m still pissed I didn’t see him before he fucking shot me, and I don’t like being wounded.”
“Hey, we agree on that,” I said, resting my cheek on his chest. “I don’t like it when you’re wounded either.”
He smiled and reached out to run his fingers through my hair.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“You can ask me anything,” Chance replied.
“Why didn’t you ask to cement the bond before we left? There was a chance your immortality would’ve started.”
His eyes widened in disbelief.