Never Doubt Me: Judge Me Not #2(47)

So that is what I do. I hit and hit, even though it hurts like hell. My knuckles crack open and bleed. I feel my skin bruising. But I continue.

Because relief comes when, as the entire time I am hitting the unforgiving bricks, I imagine Kyle Tanner’s smug f*cking face on the receiving end.





Chapter Ten


Kay


When Chase returns to the house, his right hand is a bloody mess.

“Oh my God,” I gasp when he steps through the front door. “What happened to your hand?”

“It’s nothing,” he mutters as he tries to move past me.

I step in front of him, blocking the base of the stairs. “Chase,” I implore, “please don’t do this. Don’t shut me out. Where were you tonight? How’d your hand get messed up?”

“Kay…” He sighs, leans back against the wall.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” I whisper.

He shakes his head. When he sees my surprise—we don’t keep secrets—his eyes fill with guilt. Leaning forward, he lowers his head to rest against his injured hand that he’s placed on the banister.

I see him wincing, and say softly, “Will you at least let me take care of your hand?”

He clears his throat and states dismissively, “It’s not broken.”

I step closer to him. “Still, Chase, we need to clean up those cuts and get some ice on it.” I gesture to the kitchen. “There’s still an icepack in the freezer, right?”

The icepack I’m referring to is the same one Chase held to my cheek the night I was attacked at my old apartment.

He nods once quickly, his eyes distant, like he might be recollecting the same thing. And that’s when he agrees to let me help him.

Just like when I was hurt, but with the roles reversed, he says, “We should go up to the bathroom to take care of this.”

“Okay, I’ll grab the ice. I’ll be up in a minute.”

Chase jerks his chin toward the top of the stairs before he starts up. “Where’s Will? Sleeping?”

“Yeah,” I reply, “he stayed up there most of the night, listening to music in his room. It’s been quiet for a while now, though, so I guess he fell asleep.”

“Good. He doesn’t need to see this shit.” Chase holds up his bloody hand, and this time, I’m the one wincing.

“That looks terrible.” I shake my head. “Go on up. I’ll be there in a sec.”

Chase heads up the stairs, and I grab the icepack from the freezer.

A few minutes later, when I step into the bathroom, Chase is seated on the edge of the tub, head in his hands. With one good hand and one bad hand, he reminds me that there are two sides to this man I love. The side he is most of the time—good. And the side he fights—bad.

Sighing, I decide not to press for details on what happened tonight. He’ll tell me when he’s ready—I hope.

I set the icepack next to him, grab a bottle of rubbing alcohol from the medicine chest, and run a washcloth under warm water. When I kneel down in front of the tub, I say, “Chase,” to get his attention.

He raises his head, and I take his right hand in mine.

“Thank you,” he murmurs as I begin to clean out the worst of his cuts with the washcloth.

When the time comes to apply the antiseptic to his wounds, I pause to warn him, “This may hurt.” I hold up the bottle of rubbing alcohol and raise an eyebrow.

Chase sort of nods, like he’s ready, but he turns his head away quickly. His tawny hair is messy as hell, and I long to run my fingers through the strands, to comfort him—and me—in our way. But, instead, I just start dabbing an alcohol-soaked cotton ball to his marred skin.

Chase suddenly becomes impatient with my slow process of dabbing. “Kay…”

He shifts, and I stop what I’m doing to look at him. “What?”

“Here”—Chase grabs the bottle of rubbing alcohol from the edge of the tub—“I’ll take care of this.”

He proceeds to dump half the bottle right on his hand. And then promptly grinds out from between clenched teeth, “Jesus-f*cking-shit-f*ck, that shit stings like a motherf*cker.”

I hand him the icepack. “That’s why I was trying to be careful,” I say under my breath.

He sits the ice next to him, and when I look up, his blues are on me.

“What?” I ask.

He looks away. “Nothing.”

Chase rakes his fingers through his hair, picks up the ice, and then says, “No, there is something. Truth is, I’m worried about Will, babe.”

I already sense that whatever happened tonight, it had something to do with Will. But since I know Chase is not going to give me any specifics right now, I focus instead on a bit of positive news we found out before dinner today—there’s now a restraining order out on Paul.

“Chase, I think your brother will be fine now that Cassie’s mother took out that restraining order.”

Thankfully, Cassie took my advice and told her mom about Paul following her from the restaurant. When Mrs. Sutter heard that story, she took action immediately, hence the restraining order. And, so far, Paul has abided by it.

“I think he’ll leave Cassie alone,” I continue. “He doesn’t want to violate that order and end up in huge trouble.”