Chapter 8
eight
. . .
Armin
“My hip might be out.”
I nodded. I hadn’t wanted to jump to conclusions, but it’d looked awful.
“And either my abs are separated, or wicked bruised.”
“I can take a look,” I said. “Or, if you want to keep the sheet on, maybe I’ll be able to feel it.”
“I’m not shy,” she said. She threw off the blanket and sheet, and her naked body lay spread before me.
My face flushed and stayed hot. It was going to be that kind of day. I’d wanted Mia, bad, too much. I’d caused this mess. Now I was getting more of Mia than I’d imagined.
The only thing that tamped down how much I wanted her was how godawfully hurt she was.
Her chest and abdomen were covered in huge roping welts, thick bands of them, red and angry and lined with dark purple bruises striped across her body where the seatbelt must have caught her.
Her hip was swollen and splotchy. That must have been from impact with the console when her little SUV rolled.
I had to push the shame from seeing the consequences of my actions way down deep.
“May I?”
She nodded, and I reached out to check her hip bone placement.
“Wait,” she shouted. “The whiskey.”
“I don’t know if it’s such a good idea to—”
She shot me a stern look.
“Be right back,” I said.
I returned with the half-bottle Pete from down the way had gifted me a couple years ago, and one of my juice cups. I’d never been much of a drinking man, but I’d tried to start once I retired. It didn’t go over well with my body, or my mind, and I’d soon quit again.
I set it down on the little wooden chair and poured a shot.
“I’m assuming that’s for you?” She arched an eyebrow.
“Oh, uh, I’m not much of a drinking man.”
“Sure. But I think you’re going to need it, to get through this,” she said.
I couldn’t help but agree. I hadn’t stopped blushing since she’d thrown off her covers. I was doing my best to look at her without looking at her, and my heart couldn’t seem to quit jackhammering, either.
“Now you drink that, and then help me up and lift that bottle to my mouth for me.”
My hands had the shakes. Wasn’t my style, these visible reactions. Never’d happened to me at work.
Mia had been the first woman in my arms in a long, long time.
It was easy to let the years fly by, to throw myself into work and get set in my ways.
I hadn’t really thought it was a possibility for me anymore.
To feel like that. This. Until I rushed into the burning building and picked her up from the floor of that club, in the smoke and heat, and a part of my heart that had lain dormant for a long time, probably since Hailey died, woke up.
Along with some other key parts of me I’d been ignoring. They woke up, and they lusted, until I got so flustered I didn’t know which way was up or down.
I threw back my shot of whiskey, and I put my arm around Mia and lifted her up.
A small cry escaped her. All my nerves fired at once, a jolt across my whole body.
I couldn’t stand that she was in so much pain.
I held the bottle of whiskey up to her lips and she gulped at it.
I waited until she’d gotten her fill and then pulled it away.
“Mmmmm mmm,” she said, an admonishment. I brought the bottle back for another round. My own half-shot burned in my throat. Heated up my guts.
I had to avert my eyes from the swell of her breasts, the delicate curls at the apex of her thighs, all the parts of Mia I was desperate to tend to. If only she wanted it.
If only our relationship wasn’t a business transaction, and one that had nearly ended her life. Nothing killed a lonely man’s hope faster than the cold, hard facts.
Well, what did you think was going to happen here, exactly, you damn fool?
She gulped down the second round and opened her mouth wide to exhale the fire of that awful whiskey. “Hoo lordy, that burns. Okay. Good. Now let’s pop this hip back in. And I want you to check my ribs.”
I poured another shot for myself and prayed my heart valves could endure this much blood pumping through them at such a terrible rate, and for so long.
I’d always been like this, painfully shy and reserved.
It was easier to stop dating after my younger days had passed me by, because I wasn’t tough enough, strong enough.
And because I didn’t deserve the best life had to offer. I didn’t deserve to have a woman. Not after Hailey. Not after the way I’d let down this town.
At this stage in my life, love felt an awful lot like a heart attack.
I took a deep breath, and pushed hard to wipe my mind clear of thoughts and feelings and the painful residue of all those long months fantasizing about getting to spend even a short amount of time with Mia.
Being a sheriff was a lot easier than all this, by a long shot.
In fact, if I had my druthers, I’d rather Mia shoot me than reject me.