Losing Track (Living Heartwood #2)(76)
“No, I’m fine,” he says, then coughs as the paramedic places his hand under Boone’s neck to lift his head.
“You need to be moved to a room,” the guy says.
My head jerks up. “Moved? Isn’t that what you’re not supposed to do with an injured person?”
The paramedic—though I now seriously doubt he’s for real—ignores me again as he begins to bring Boone forward.
“Hey, *! I’m talking to you.”
I hear Boone’s raspy laugh and look down. “Don’t piss her off, man. She’s a f*cking feisty one.”
Against my distress and the need to assault the paramedic, I feel a small smile twist my lips. “Yeah, well, you should talk. Honestly, we need to get you to a hospital. You need a professional.” I say this last part loud and glance up to glare at the paramedic.
He shakes his head, and finally says to me, “Miss, he’s okay. Just got the shit beat out of him. He’ll live.”
I hike an eyebrow. “And that’s your professional opinion?” I look at Boone.
He’s sitting up, arms draped over his knees. “Someone just get me to the back room.”
Then I’m physically removed from his side as two guys slide Boone’s arms around their necks and lift him. My instinct says he really needs to be looked at, but all I can do is follow behind them as they take him out of the ring and through the crowd.
People cheer Hunter’s name, and I shake my head. I actually want to put my fist through a few faces. This man almost died…could’ve been injured so badly he’d never walk again…and these f*ckers think they saw a good show.
But Boone’s struggle to make it to the house steals my attention. I slip my side tote over my head and follow behind them, shouldering people out of my way. My only concern that he get somewhere safe and quiet. Away from all this crazy.
Once inside, they walk Boone to the same small room where I once bandaged his cuts. I swallow hard, thinking about how I should’ve said something then. Should have dropped my hard fa?ade and begged him not to fight, not to hurt himself.
I knew then something was really off, and now it’s just more guilt mounting the heap of all my bad decisions of late.
“Guys, I’m good,” Boone says. He settles on the floor, pressing his back up against the wall. Someone whispers in his ear and he nods. “I’ll take care of it.”
Then they leave the room. Quiet settles between us, thickening into a barrier, keeping me from him. My feet are cemented to the floor. My whole body wanting to rush to him, but immobilized by the fear of what happens next.
“Tell me the truth,” I say. “Are you hurt?”
He chuckles. Wiping the back of his taped hand across his forehead, he says, “Yeah, Mel. I don’t feel like running a marathon, but it’s not hospital worthy. A couple fractured ribs, maybe. My throat will probably close up at some point with swelling…but I’m not dying.”
Then my feet come unglued. I’m across the room and kneeling in front of him, my hands on his thighs, just to connect us together. “I’m a f*cking bitch and I’m sorry.” My gaze captures his, then slowly, his eyes trace the contours of my face. Seeking the truth in my words.
“What are you sorry for?” he asks. He begins to peel the tape away from his hands, and I reach up and take one.
He allows me to remove the tape and inspect the damage. His knuckles are almost black. I taste the bile rising to my throat and swallow it back down. “I cannot understand why you do this to yourself. You have to stop.”
His fingers grasp my chin, lift my face to his. “You know why.”
A shaky breath slips from my lips. “I’m sorry I didn’t stick around, Boone. I freaked. And I can’t change it, and even if I could, it wouldn’t matter. We have some serious shit going on here.” I press my cheek into his palm, close my eyes, feel him. “I’ll do whatever it takes, but you have to promise to do the same. No more bullshit. No more half-assed speeches, and especially no more brawls, and I’ll…”
I open my eyes to see his forehead furrowed in thought. “And you’ll what? Ditch your MC family? Settle down in one place?” He smiles. “You really think if we tried, seriously tried, that we wouldn’t end up hating and blaming each other in the end?”
“I think you’re worth the challenge.”
His hazel eyes flick over my face, taking me in, then his hand moves to my hair. His fingers clasp the back of my neck, and he pulls me to him. Our lips connect. He kisses me with the desire of a man starved for love. Despite the swelling split I feel along his lip, he ignores whatever pain he’s feeling and hungrily devours me, his tongue stroking mine possessively, until I’m breathless, meeting each motion with equal passion.
My body sinks into him, and then I’m sliding onto his lap, my arms finding their place around his neck. He releases a hiss against my lips, and I pull back.
“Shit. Did I hurt you?”
He licks his lips, eyes trapping mine. “In the best way.” Then he palms both of my thighs. His fingers grip my jeans and yank me closer to him.
I smile and kiss him. Like my lips, my body, my soul have always belonged in his possession. I was just waiting for the right moment for us to click into place. To find home.