Can't Slow Down - Lizzie Hart Stevens Page 0,4
the front passenger seat of Coen’s car. Streetlights appear as streaks of orange as we speed down the city streets. I’m a little groggy, but I reach down to find the lever that adjusts the seat back upright. The movement of me sitting up gets Coen’s attention. He quickly glances over at me and places his right hand on my leg.
“Just stay still, Lex. I’m taking you to the hospital to get checked out. Does anything hurt?” His eyes bounce back and forth between me and the road as he waits for me to reply. He stops at a red light and I can see well enough to tell that his eye is a bit swollen.
“I have a headache, but it isn’t bad. I just want to go home, Coen.” I look to him with exhausted, pleading eyes. After the day I’ve had, all I want to do is curl up in my favorite blanket and go to sleep. “Are you okay? Maybe you should get checked out?” I slide my palm under his and lace our fingers together. My thumb caresses his as I turn myself towards him, waiting for him to answer. The light turns green. Coen shrugs and continues driving.
“It’s just a black eye, Lexi, I’ll be fine.” His hand grips mine a little tighter and his foot presses a little harder on the gas.
I decide to take his word for it. For now. I’m too exhausted to argue with him. Taking my eyes off him to look out at the road, I see that we’re coming up to another intersection. If we go left, we’ll be on our way to the hospital, if we go right, we’ll be just a couple more minutes closer to my bed.
“Please just take me home, Coen,” I plead. “No hospital tonight. I just want a nice warm bath and my bed.” He stops at the stop sign and puts the car in park.
“What are you doing? You can’t park in the middle of the road!” I check the mirrors and turn around to see that thankfully, there’s no one behind us.
“Relax, Lex, no one is honking yet.” Coen flips the overhead light on. I blink a few times, trying to adjust my eyes to the brightness. “Let me get a good look at you.”
He tenderly holds my chin between his thumb and index finger, moving my head slowly right and then left.
“Son of a fucking bitch, Lexi, I should’ve killed the little worthless bastard. Fuck!” Coen slams his hand against the light, turning it back off. Throwing the car back in drive he stomps on the gas and turns right. I lean back and sigh in relief. He’s taking me home.
“Does your cheek hurt? Do you hurt anywhere else at all?” he asks again, gripping the steering wheel tighter. He’s really upset about this. I knew he liked me, but he’s acting like it’s his job to take care of me. Part of me wants to tell him that I’m not a damn ragdoll, that I can take care of myself. But the other part of me is overcome with relief and thankfulness. If Coen hadn’t shown up when he did, who knows what Patrick would have done to me.
“Really, Coen. I just need a bath and some sleep.”
He doesn’t say anything else the rest of the drive to my place. He seems concerned, but distant. Instead of letting me walk, he carries me inside the house. I’ve never been this fussed over before. Normally I wouldn’t stand for this sort of thing. I can take care of myself. I don’t need a man, or anyone else for that matter, looking after me. But tonight, with him, it feels different. Like he belongs here. Like I’m right where I should be.
Coen sits me on the edge of the sink in the bathroom and draws me a bath. As we wait for the tub to fill he takes my shoes and socks off and finally breaks his silence.
“I know you’re probably wondering what happened after you passed out.” He walks over to me and starts to gently help me out of my dirty work uniform.
“Derek showed up and pulled me off of Patrick, I’m guessing not long after you passed out. He told me to get you looked at and somewhere safe and he would deal with that fucking asshole. He was extremely drunk and I might have banged him up a little, but he’ll live. Not that he deserves to.”