might fight me on it, but he only sighed and settled into it, leaning his head on my shoulder. I nosed at the crown of his head, inhaling the faint scent of sweat, shampoo, and the foam from his helmet.
I carried him inside, moving through the dark, quiet common space to the stairs that led to my bedroom. The image of his bike on the side of the road was burned into my mind. Fuck, it could’ve been so much worse than it was.
He could’ve been killed. But to my surprise, I didn’t feel anger at the thought—not yet, at least. I only felt relief—relief that Heath was okay, and safe in my arms. The thought of anything else was enough to turn my stomach. I’d do anything—anything—to protect him. Keep him by my side for as long as he would be there.
The realization hit me like a slap across the face. This wasn’t about Ryder and his lackeys, or Hell’s Ankhor, or even the continued existence of the Liberty Crew. This was just about me and Heath. He was quickly becoming the most important thing in my life—and I wanted him to know that.
I slipped into my bedroom and headed straight to the bathroom. Heath took a slow, shuddering breath and began to quiver in my arms.
“Hey.” I dropped a kiss on the crown of his head. “You okay?”
“God,” he muttered. “That was really close. They almost—they really almost got me.”
“But they didn’t,” I reassured him, even as I felt the terror and truth of it settle in my gut. “I got you.”
He tilted his face up to look at me and his eyes were wide and red-rimmed. “I know.”
“Let me take care of you,” I said. If I wasn’t there for him when this happened, like I’d promised—I could try to mitigate the pain now.
He nodded, a small, barely there motion. I closed the distance between us, kissed him gently, and then set him on the edge of the bathroom counter. He sat comfortably there, knees knocking against the cabinet doors, as I started the bath. I was grateful for my huge, luxury jacuzzi tub—it’d seemed an indulgence when I’d bought it, but now I knew it was worth every cent.
As the bath filled, I turned around and faced Heath. He looked so small and innocent looking up at me, with his big brown eyes and face pale with exhaustion. I brushed the hair off his forehead. I didn’t need words—not now. I simply tugged at the hem of his t-shirt and he raised his arms obediently for me to peel it off.
Then I tugged him to his feet and did the same with his riding leathers—pulling off the damaged chaps and tossing them aside. Beneath them, his jeans were a little torn up too, and my heart clenched at the sight. Thank God he’d been wearing the leathers. I popped the button on his jeans and peeled those off too, kneeling to slide them off his legs and help him step out of them. While kneeling on the floor, I paused and pressed a gentle kiss to the inside of his thigh, then took a careful look at his injured leg.
It wasn’t bad—he had a little bit of surface level road rash on the outside of his leg, and his ankle was slightly swollen. There was a little bit of blood, and a little dirt, but it was a big, shallow scratch that’d be more an annoyance than anything else.
He was still quivering, probably in shock. I pulled off his shorts, too, so he was nude in front of me—and gorgeous. But I didn’t want to devour him like I did before. I wanted him to feel secure. Cared for.
I led him to the bath and helped him step inside. He sank into the water with a grateful sigh, and it immediately clouded as it rinsed the sweat and dirt from his injury. I stripped my shirt off, too, and then knelt at the edge of the tub.
“Can I?” I asked, as I grabbed a plush washcloth and soap.
Heath met my eyes with something like wonder in his. “Anything.”
“This might sting,” I said gently as I began to clean the dirt from the scrape.
Heath hissed and reached for me. I took his hand with my free hand as I cleaned the wound.
It didn’t take long—once I was finished, I drained the tub and refilled it with clean water while Heath waited, bundled in a plush towel. Then