Chapter 25
brIE
Inside, he kicks off his boots and deposits me on a bench against the wall.
“Wait here.” He strides away, and I distract myself from the throb in my hip by looking around.
This place is . . . cramped. The entire cabin is much smaller than I expected, just one room, like a large studio.
The amount of junk jammed in here doesn’t help.
Dressers, a large bed, bedside tables, storage boxes stacked high in one corner.
It all points to him moving from a much larger house except his couch is way too small for the space, like it came from a compact apartment. I can’t understand it.
“Here,” he says, hurrying back to me, carrying a first aid kit and some towels.
He kneels down in front of me and examines my hip. There’s a small tear in the fabric, darkened with blood.
“I’m going to need to cut your pants down to the thigh so I can assess your cut.
” My jaw drops, and he hands me a towel.
“Drape that over your lap if you want.” His tone is steady and commanding, and he doesn’t wait for an answer before he takes a pair of scissors and cuts carefully down the seam of my favorite twill pants with competent efficiency.
“These were the most comfortable pants I owned,” I sigh.
He doesn’t seem to hear me. He’s detached almost. Like he isn’t Sawyer, and I’m not Brie. There are no snide remarks or strange heated looks. Then it dawns on me, what I learned about him on our sort-of double date. This is Sawyer the Navy SEAL in action.
I’ve never seen this side of him before.
After my pants are slit open on the side, he looks up at me with a look that allows no argument.
I lift myself off enough for him to pull them down over my thighs, gentle and careful not to hurt me.
My phone tumbles out of my back pocket. He looks at it for a second, dumbfounded.
I grab it to shoot a quick text to both sisters, who’ve blown up my messages, that I’m safe and will keep in touch.
“Can you lean over more?” he asks.
I try, but my thighs are glued together. He removes my wet shoes and socks before helping me out of my pants the rest of the way. They were useless anyway, barely keeping my pride intact by a thread.
Once I’m leaning awkwardly on the bench, weight braced against the wall, he heaves out a sigh.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Sorry about this.”
Before I can ask what he’s sorry about, I feel a tug at my underwear, then hear a snip. My humiliation is complete when I feel the cool air on my bare ass cheek.
“There’s the problem,” he says
“What is?”
“A shard of glass. I’m going to pull it out.”
“Wait! Aren’t you not supposed to do that? Like, couldn’t I bleed out?”
He moves to meet my eyes. His expression is patient, voice confident. “You aren’t going to bleed out. It didn’t hit a major artery unless it’s a much longer shard than I think. Given your—”
“But what if you’re wrong?” I shriek.
Calmly, he puts his hand over mine. “Given your mobility, I’m sure it’s not that deep. If it were, you’d be in a lot more pain right now.” He presses his lips together then asks, “Do you trust me?”
Without hesitation, I blurt, “Yes.”
It surprises me. Under any other circumstance, I’d say I don’t trust Sawyer one iota. But the person with me right now isn’t Regular Sawyer. He’s Sawyer the SEAL.
He lets out a breath, like he’s just as surprised by my answer. “Squeeze my hand,” he says, reaching for tweezers with his free hand, and I do.
There’s an uncomfortable pinch before he holds a piece of glass up to me. He drops it into the open lid of his first aid kit and presses a piece of gauze to my hip. “Better?”
I shift and there’s a sting like with a regular cut, but the shooting pain is gone.
“Yeah.” I can’t keep the surprise from my voice. “All better.”
Sawyer cleans and dresses my wound while keeping up a one-sided conversation. It’s so impersonal, I’m sure it was part of his training, a method of distraction for the person he’s treating.
“Anything else hurt? You scrape your hands?”
I hold up my palms and wriggle my legs to show I didn’t twist anything when I fell. “All good.”
He sits back on his heels. I see the moment he transforms from Sawyer the SEAL back to Regular Sawyer. His practiced detachment clears, and heat floods his eyes. But not the kind of heat I saw when he wore the bunny suit. He’s angry.
I’m suddenly freezing again. My sweater like ice on my skin beneath his jacket.
He stands to his full height, towering over me. “Why didn’t you call someone?” he all but snarls.
All I can do is shake my head. “Th-the weather. I didn’t think it’d be safe—”
“Safe? You’re talking about safe when you were out there without a jacket, without gloves, no car and no way to get back inside the school, stranded and bleeding?”
“I wasn’t thinking about all that!” I have to admit, when he lists it all like that, it sounds bad.
He leans forward, his palms against the wall by my head, face inches from mine. “Do you have any idea how lucky I was to find you.”
There’s a waver in his voice, so slight I almost miss it. His eyes are wild. He’s breathing hard. Just like he was after Tess caught us in the classroom.
The mortification of him telling me it would never happen again floods my senses. What makes him think he can suddenly pretend to care about me? He’s hot and cold, like always, and I’m sick of being made a fool.
I shove him back, giving myself room to stand. I feel my Angry Badger Face come to life, ready to fight back.
He glances down.
This is the exact moment I realize I’m pantless. The towel that was covering me is on the floor, and half my ass is out.
It’s fine. My front’s covered enough, and at least I’m not wearing the gag underwear Mara sent me for Christmas.
I square my shoulders, undeterred, and take a step toward him. He takes a step back. Coward.
“I did what I thought was best under the circumstances.”
I take another step, and so does he. Bastard.
“My sisters are the only ones I can count on in this town. I’d never ask them to come out in this. Not for me.”
His eyes blaze, and when I take another step, he doesn’t budge.
Voice low, he says, “Why didn’t you call me.”
“You?! Puh-lease.” I can’t believe he has the nerve to ask that when our entire childhood is one giant red flag. I take one more step. We’re toe to toe. “When have you ever come through for me?”
Hurt flashes over his face, and I falter.
The bandage on my ass for one.
Rescuing me from the blizzard for two. And both of those are just from today.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to take it back, call for a truce, when his eyes narrow and he leans forward.
“Fine.” His breath skates over my lips. “Good to know you feel the same way about me as you always have.”
He’s so close, I can see the flecks of blue in his eyes.
My blood starts rushing in my ears. I’m suddenly aware of how hard I’m breathing.
Both of us are. All those lusty feelings, all the desire I’ve been pushing back on, everything bubbles to the surface as the moment stretches taut for one breath, two. Then . . .
Snap.