Down and Out(34)

Blake frowns and rubs his forehead. He looks so much like Declan in that moment that I wonder how I haven’t seen it before.
“He’s fine, best I can tell. Probably has some broken ribs and he’ll feel like shit for a week or two, but that’s it.”
“Are you a doctor?” I don’t think he is, but you never know.
His eyes lift, glancing at me coldly, and I know I have my answer.
“Then how can you stand there and tell me he’ll be okay? He could have brain swelling, or internal bleeding, or—”
“He’d be a lot worse off if that was the case, don’t you think?” He brushes past me and heads into the kitchen. “He’s awake. He’s talking. That’s the most we can hope for.”
“The most we can hope for? Are you serious?” I follow him into the kitchen, watching him grab a beer from the fridge. “We need to take him to a hospital. He needs real medical attention, not a bunch of f*cking Band-Aids!”
I shake my head, angry and pissed off at myself. How could I let them talk me into something so stupid?
Blake takes a long swig and sets the bottle on the counter. “I’m telling you, he’s fine.” The rolled up sleeves of his plaid button-up show off his thick, corded arms as he crosses them. His unmarred skin is so unlike his brother’s, and the weirdest thought pops into my head: I think it looks . . . plain.
I hadn’t realized how much I like Declan’s decorative packaging.
My eyes snap up to Blake. “If he’s fine, then what’s the harm in getting him checked out at the hospital? It’s not like he can’t afford the bill.”
“It’s not about the money, it’s—” He sighs. “It’s hospital policy to report an assault to the cops. Under no circumstances do we want them involved, not with what Declan does for a living.”
“Why? I thought . . . I thought he ran the gym.” I frown as this horrible, sinking feeling settles over me, and I think back to his jeans. His wallet had still been in his back pocket. And his phone was still with him, too. Whoever did this to him hadn’t stolen anything.
My stomach plummets as his refusal for a hospital takes on a whole new meaning.
Blake grabs his beer. “That’s a conversation you and Declan need to have.” He walks around me, into the living room, and sits on the couch.
Biting my lip, I come out of the kitchen as Blake turns on the TV, lowering the volume till it’s almost inaudible. “Is he still awake?”
He keeps his eyes on the flat screen as he takes another drink. “I doubt it. I gave him some Vicodin, and with the ass-kicking he took. . .” His hazel irises flick up to mine as he says, “You can still go back there if you want.”
I nod slowly, then turn and start walking to Declan’s room. Maybe I’ll feel better about this if I just check on him and make sure he’s, you know, still breathing and stuff.
The door eases open, and it takes my eyes a second to adjust to the darkness. The light from the hallway helps, so I leave the door open a crack as I make my way over to his bed.
He’s on his back, asleep, and tucked under the covers. His right eye has swollen shut, and there’s a butterfly bandage on his eyebrow. The cheek below it is puffy and bruised, and purplish blotches line his jaw. The split on his lip looks red and angry.
My heart aches at the sight, and I frown, unable to identify the emotion flooding me. Whatever it is, it’s heavy and unyielding.
Why didn’t he give me his story yesterday? He obviously has one to tell, and now I want to hear it. In fact, I think he kind of owes it to me after the way I found him tonight.
Slowly and carefully, I climb onto the bed, lying next to him above the covers. His face is tilted toward me and I reach up, brushing the dark fringe of his hair off his clammy forehead. Affection is a foreign concept to me, but seeing him like this makes me want to touch him somehow.
I watch the gentle rise and fall of his chest for several moments, my throat tightening with every discolored splotch I see. Tears fall down my cheeks as I burrow my face against his arm and slip my hand in his.
“Please be okay.”





Early morning sunlight pours into the room as my eyelids peel open, feeling gritty and sore as pain radiates through my body. Memories of the night before come flooding back, and I remember why it feels like I’ve been hit by a truck: three *s jumped me as I left the gym last night.
I didn’t recognize any of those douchenozzles, but I know who’s behind it.
Kerrigan.
I’m gonna kill that motherf*cker.
He knows he can’t beat me in the ring, so that * waits until the night before the fight to pull something like this? Big mistake. Jimmy’s not gonna stand for stacking the deck like this.
A soft sigh to my right has me painfully turning my head, and I see Savannah sleeping next to me. She spent the night by my side?
Guess the Ice Queen has a soft spot after all.
My fingers reach over and brush her hair. It hurts like a bitch and sends shooting pain up my arm and down my side, but I don’t care. This is one of the few chances I’m going to catch her without her guard up. I have to take advantage of it.
She stirs by my side and groggily opens her eyes. “Declan?” Almost instantly, she’s wide awake.
Her hair fans over her pillow, and I touch the golden-brown strands. “Hey, Kitten.” Just seeing her makes me smile.
“Look who’s up.”
Blake’s voice in the doorway surprises us, and I immediately drop my hand. He’s cocking a brow at the exchange, and I return his curious stare with a glare.