70. Chapter Seventy
Chapter Seventy
Kat
Ihad all but one sensor done by the time he exited the bathroom.
I saw that he’d dried off… some. He’d clearly given up on his extremities and just wrapped his towel around his waist, hoping for the best. A sound escaped me that was a half laugh, half sigh, and I popped back into the bathroom to grab another towel.
Laughing at his obvious decision to leave his hair to its own devices, I gently rubbed it a little to get it drier than sopping wet, at least. I made a spinning motion with my finger, and he turned around.
I dried his shoulders and the uncovered portion of his back lightly.
The bruises were bad, but the entire half of his back covered in gauze was what made my breath catch.
“Do we need to replace your gauze?” I asked quietly while drying off his feet and shins. I did my best to keep the tremor out of my voice, but I absolutely didn’t look him in the eye.
“No, I can shower with it. The medical center changes it for me when I need,” he said nonchalantly. I couldn’t understand the nonchalance.
Even if he didn’t remember it happening, which he didn’t.
How?
Fucking HOW?
Because I couldn’t stop hearing it seeing it living it.
I sucked in a deep breath.
“It-I-Does…” I trailed off. He waited for me to try again.
“Is it still really bad?” I asked, finally settling on something. It was the only injury I hadn’t seen, and I couldn’t help but notice that even the stab wounds were healed over, angry and pink but closed.
His back obviously wasn’t.
“I’m okay, Kat,” he insisted.
“That’s not what I FUCKING asked, Henry. Please stop doing that,” I begged. He sighed, reaching up to run a hand through his hair and regretting it instantly. I held his sweatpants out for him to step into, and pulled them up, loosening the towel automatically when I was done.
“I still have a few layers of stitches. They’ll be in until at least the summer break,” he said softly, and I could tell he didn’t want to tell me. I nodded, swallowing. It upset me, of course it did. But I didn’t want him to not share things with me because he thought I couldn’t carry them.
“Obviously nothing about this is normal. But has anything gone wrong or is that the expected time frame?” I asked, desperately needing to know he hadn’t gotten an infection from the warehouse floor and the car and the tree and the ground.
“That’s what they expected from day one. It’s actually healing really well, they said,” he offered. I nodded. Okay. New subject then.
I picked his kit back up after helping him sit again, and found something else to talk about.
“Is Petersen excited he gets to start in fourth tomorrow?” I asked lightly, knowing it had to be bothering him that he wouldn’t be driving in the first race of the year. I wanted to be there for him the best I could.
“What?” he asked me, sounding surprised. I shrugged.
“Oh, did you not know the mechanics fixed the car? They didn’t need to replace anything, and your time had you in fourth at the red flag,” I explained, knowing he’d be happy there wasn’t too much damage.
“I knew that,” he said slowly, an unreadable edge entering his tone. Then why did he…
This motherfucker.
“No. No fucking way, Henry. You’ve got to be FUCKING kidding me!” I whispered fiercely, desperately wanting to yell but KNOWING I couldn’t let people hear us.
“I thought you of all people would understand, Kat,” he said quietly, sounding exhausted. I did. To an extent. This was PAST that extent.
“I wouldn’t drive,” I said automatically. He looked up at that. He tilted his head to the side, but found only honesty on my face. Well, that and fierce protectiveness, I was sure.
“You bloody well would, Kat,” he sighed. I shook my head vehemently, taking his chin in my hand.
“I. Would. Not. Henry, you’re used to pain, but that doesn’t make it OKAY.
And you’re USED to pain. And this is still cutting you off at the knees.
How the HELL are you going to climb into that car tomorrow?
” I asked, truly wanting to know. But he pulled his chin out of my grip, and I saw the stubborn set of his jaw.
“One foot at a time, like fucking always.”
I refused to talk to him after that. Petty?
Maybe. Needed? Yes. I finished the last sensor.
And despite wondering how the hell he’d get back into identical sets of what I just helped him OUT of in the morning, I still helped him into a t-shirt for the night.
He had sandals to slip on to get back to the hotel when he was ready.
“Kat,” he tried, knowing I was angry. But he didn’t get it. Because I wasn’t JUST angry. I was terrified and indignant and so very, very sad. I shook my head.
“Kat, I have to,” he tried again. No, you fucking DON’T. You DON’T.
You don’t have to give your own bones more chances to splinter into a million pieces and act like shrapnel in your lungs and heart.
You don’t have to act like not driving that car ONE time will kill you, when it won’t. But driving it that ONE time MIGHT.
You don’t have to act like no one fucking cares about your pain.
You don’t have to act like no one would fucking care if your car DID kill you.
Because people fucking WOULD.
People DO fucking love you.
I didn’t respond.
I grabbed my phone off the table just as a call from Bex came through. I clicked to answer it quickly, just to let her know I’d call her back in a minute.
“Okay, girl, but be quick. It’s not good. There are rumors that Blackstone is backing out of their deal. And it’s making it look like you only got the contract for reasons other than earning it. Which is causing a massive loss of faith with other contracts,” she blurted. Fuck.
Of course. Of COURSE.
FUCK.
Of course, this was going to try to affect my business. Why wouldn’t it? Why had I ever gotten any evidence that everything I did wasn’t poison?
“How many?” I asked sharply.
“I don’t know. Enough. Enough to not be able to count quickly. Enough,” she repeated. Got it. I hung up with her quickly, knowing I’d call her back to set up a plan before getting back to work on the car. I had to do both.
The last thing I needed if Blackstone was considering backing out was them accusing me of not doing my work.
Especially if they knew I was with the driver I was being accused of fucking for a contract.
Never had I hated being a woman more in my life than right at that moment.
Because fuck my achievements, right? Fuck the fact that I built this software and it works and Blackstone approached ME and we signed a contract BEFORE anything happened between Henry and I.
The world didn’t care.
Because I was a woman.
And women only got good things by using what was between their legs.
“Kat?” Henry asked warily. I shook my head, willing the tears to stay behind my eyeballs.
“What can I do to help?” he asked softly. I shook my head HARD. And laughed.
“You’ve done enough, dude,” I spat, unfairly. I turned to open the door, but his palm flattened on it, stopping me.
“Seriously, Kat. Come on. Tell me what’s wrong. Tell me how I can help,” he insisted. NO.
“Honestly? Honestly, Henry, don’t worry about it.
Everyone makes mistakes, right?” I said coldly.
His hand fell off the door. I couldn’t look at his face, I knew I’d find a devastated and confused look in his sad, sleepy eyes.
I pulled the door open. I shrugged and let out a light laugh that came out rather vicious.
Oh, well.
I was halfway out the door before I shot one last line back at him.
“I mean, what happens in Vegas, right?” I asked bitterly. He opened his mouth. I beat him to it.
“What happens in Vegas ruins your life,” I finished. I had taken a few steps before he recovered enough to respond.
“That wasn’t about YOU, Kat!” he shouted, apparently not caring if the mechanics heard him. After all, HE didn’t NEED to care. I did.
I waved my hand angrily over my shoulder in acknowledgement, acquiescence.
I was glad repeating that made him feel better.
It didn’t do a damn thing for me.