Pieces of Us (Confessions of the Heart, #3)(40)

“Not sure that’s a good idea,” I said, fidgeting with my fingers. “I mean . . . you can’t just leave him here with me like this.”

“Know he looks like death warmed over, but believe me, he’s had it way worse than this. Drawbacks of the job.” There he went again. As if this were a joke.

The man could have been killed.

“Pretty sure the only thing he needs is a hot shower and a few kisses on those booboos, and he’ll be good to go. Looks like he’s in plenty good hands.”

That redness that’d been creeping flashed, full blown heat.

“I’m . . . I’m not . . .we’re not . . . we don’t . . .”

Frantically, I gestured between Maxon and me. I sounded like a blundering fool.

Maxon’s expression shifted, a smirk catching at the side of that busted lip.

How was it possible that was sexy?

But it was, and trembles were taking up residence in my belly.

Those blue eyes glinted, needy and hot and arrogant, like he was standing right there, remembering all the times when we had.

“I just want Izzy,” he grunted at his friend, and my stomach tangled in a thousand knots.

Oh, this was bad.

Bad, bad, bad.

Pete dug into his wallet and pulled out a business card. “Here’s my number if you need me. He’ll be fine. Just get him into bed and let him sleep it off.”

“Owe you,” Maxon told him, head slumping to the side.

“Damn right you do. Take care of yourself, man. Clean up. Sleep it off. Be ready for Sergeant Woods to rip you a new one when you come crawling in tomorrow.”

Pete stood in the doorway, glanced back at me. “Are you cool?”

Was I cool? Did I look cool?

I looked back at Maxon who was just . . . starin’ at me.

So many emotions coming off of him I didn’t know how to process them all.

Those blue eyes nothing but a raging sea at midnight. Dark, lulling waves taking me under. Deeper and deeper. There was nothin’ I could do but inhale and hope I didn’t drown.

“Yeah. I’ve got him,” I told Pete, while my rational side screamed out that this was a terrible idea.

He gave me a tight nod and pulled the door shut behind him.

The second he did, the walls closed in. Closer and closer. The air thick and dense.

Energy crackled, this physical entity that had always lived within us.

I got stuck in a whirlwind of it. Just starin’ at the man who’d loved me like none other and then hurt me in a way no one else had ever had the power to do.

His commanding face torn to shreds. Blond hair sticking up and matted. Chest heaving with massive, choppy breaths.

Mine matched time, ragged and harsh.

He was so beautiful. So big and powerful and strong. Rippling with it as he leaned against the wall, like a warrior who’d just made his way home after battle.

Mesmerizing in a way that had captured me the first time I’d seen him.

And I knew . . . I knew he was broken in ways that were only represented by his bruised exterior.

Tonight was so much more than him simply happening upon a fight.

There was a part of Maxon that hunted it.

Wanted the pain.

Wanted the disorder.

Wanted to make himself pay.

I’d been desperate to fix those pieces for so long, but those were the parts of himself that he’d always kept out of reach. The ones he didn’t let me touch.

“Should I call Jace or Ian?” I finally managed to ask, the words choked as they scraped across my raw throat.

“No. Just you,” he slurred.

Air heaved from my lungs, and I squeezed my eyes for a beat, coming to the decision to be there for him.

“Okay. Let’s get you cleaned up.” I edged back over, wading through that energy, my footsteps slowed in that quiet ferocity.

I wrapped an arm around his waist.

Chills spread. Fire and ice skating down my spine, tingles spreading outward, touching every cell.

“Do you think you can walk?” I forced out.

“Yeah. Looks worse than it is,” he rasped.

“Don’t lie to me, Maxon Chambers.”

He released a rough sound, pressed his nose into my hair, his mouth moving near my temple. “You’re right. It hurts, Izzy. Hurt’s so fuckin’ bad. That’s the truth.”

The words staggered me, whipping through me with the force of a storm. And I knew what he was sayin’, where they were coming from. But I didn’t think either of us were prepared for that conversation tonight. I didn’t want him saying things he didn’t mean when he had alcohol soaking his brain.

When my heart was already tattered and torn and mangled like his body.

Bleeding at the sight of him like this.

I started toward the short hall at the back of the open room that housed his living room and kitchen.

He took lurching steps as we went, teeth clenching as he grunted with physical pain, and I took on as much of his weight as I could.

Tears stung the back of my eyes.

Because he was hurting.

Because he felt too good.

Because I didn’t think I could ever fully trust him again.

“Where is your bedroom?” I murmured.

“Down the hall . . . last door on the right,” he grumbled through halting breaths.