Praying for Rain (Praying for Rain Trilogy, #1)(39)

“Why are you doing all this for me?”

My stomach churns out a fresh batch of acid as my heart begins to pound through my back against Wes’s chest.

How do I answer that without sounding even crazier than he already suspects that I am?

Because I think I might be in love with you.

Because, before I met you, I hadn’t smiled in a month.

Because I don’t want to lose you.

Because you’re my only reason for living.

“Look at me.”

I hold my breath as Wes turns my body around to face him. Then, with a swallow, I lift my head and accept my fate. I let him see me in all my naked, bruised, fucked up glory. Even sick, Wes’s beauty takes my breath away. His pale green eyes are rimmed in red—tired and determined, hopeless and hopeful. His dark eyebrows pull together as he chews on the inside of his bottom lip. He’s looking at me like I’m a precious puzzle, and everything else fades away. More than the pills or the memories or the fear of what tomorrow will bring, I realize that I am a slave to that look. I would do anything, give anything, to spend what’s left of my short life watching Wes watching me.

He asks his question again, “Why are you doing this, Rain? Why are you taking care of me?”

“Because … I like taking care of people?” It’s not a lie. “I was gonna start nursing school last fall, but then, you know, everything went to shit. But, seeing as how I can’t even keep my first patient from getting an infection, it’s probably for the best.”

I attempt a smile, but Wes doesn’t return it. His intense, bloodshot eyes dart back and forth between mine while he makes up his mind about me. Then, he nods.

“What?” My cheeks suddenly feel as if I’m the one with the fever.

“Nothing. Come on. Shower’s hot.”

I blink, and Wes is gone, replaced with a plume of steam from the opening and closing of the shower door.

I follow him in and freeze at the sight of his head thrown back under the spray. Rivulets of warm water crisscross over his chest and slide into the valleys between his abs. Wes is no more than a foot away from me, but I feel as though I couldn’t touch him even if I wanted to. He’s shut me out, and I don’t even know why.

I feel like, if things were normal right now, this is the part where Wes would tell me he’d call me on his way out the door, never to be heard from again.

I don’t know what I did, but I messed up. I gave the wrong answer, and now, I’m being shunned for it.

“Wes.” My wavering, raspy voice is almost completely drowned out by the roar of the shower. I clear my throat and continue, a little louder, “Wes.”

He turns to look at me but flinches and curses under his breath as the hard spray lands directly on his gaping wound.

Without thinking, I reach out and cup my hands above the gash, shielding it from the onslaught. “Just stand here for a minute,” I say, angling him so that the water hits his back and runs down his arm, cleaning out the injury without all the blunt force trauma.

Wes jerks his shoulder, pulling his arm out of my hand. “I can take it from here. You’re off the clock, Nurse Williams.” He says it like an insult. I feel it land in my gut like a sucker punch.

“Are you mad at me?”

“Nope.”

I glance up and notice immediately that the hopefulness I saw just a few minutes ago has been replaced with a cement wall, painted green and lined with spiky black lashes like razor wire.

“I just don’t wanna be your little patient, okay? I can take care of myself. I’ve been doing it my whole life.”

And there it is.

“I’ve been doing it my whole life.”

Nobody has ever taken care of Wes before. Not because they genuinely wanted to. Not because they cared.

“I care.” My eyes go wide as my own words hit my ears. I glance up at Wes in a panic, wondering if he heard me, too. Praying to God that he didn’t.

Wes stills, his bottom lip curled inward slightly as if he’s just about to start chewing on it. Blood pounds in my ears louder than the water drumming on his skin as I wait for him to react, but he doesn’t so much as blink.

Fuck.

A subtle hardness makes its way into the edges and angles of Wes’s face. His eyes narrow, just a bit. His jaw flexes. His nostrils flare. I can’t tell what he’s fighting back, but whatever it is, it scares me.

“Listen to me,” he grinds out from between his clenched teeth. “I’m not your fucking boyfriend, okay? I’m the guy who put a gun to your head two days ago. Remember? You don’t know me, you don’t fucking love me, and you never will. So, stop …” Wes shakes his head and glances around the inside of the shower, hunting for the words he needs in the swirling mist. “Stop … this. Stop pretending like you give a shit.”

His accusation makes me livid.

“Stop pretending like I don’t!” I shout, balling my hands into fists at my sides as the emotion I’ve been trying to hide from him bubbles up and boils to the surface. “Stop pretending like you’re this unlovable monster when you’re the boldest, bravest, most … most beautiful person I’ve ever met!” My fingernails dig into my palms as fury surges through my body. “And stop pretending like I’m only here because you kidnapped me. You didn’t kidnap me, and you know it. You saved me, Wes. And every time you look at me, you do it all over again!”