She grabbed the pitcher and left the room.
Gideon stepped closer to the bed and spoke to Cary.
"Tell me what happened."
Cary sighed.
"Trey and I went out Friday, but he had to bail early.
I walked him out to grab a cab, but it was nuts right in front of the club, so we went around the corner.
He'd just taken off when I got nailed in the back of the head.
Took me straight down and whaled on me a few times.
Never got a chance to defend myself."
My hands began to shake, and Cary's thumb rubbed soothingly over the back.
"Hey," he murmured.
"Teaches me.
Don't stick my dick in the wrong chick."
"What?" I watched Cary's eyes drift shut, and a moment later it was clear he was sleeping.
I glanced helplessly across the bed at Gideon.
"I'll look into it," he said.
"Step out with me for a minute."
I followed him, my gaze repeatedly turning back to Cary.
When the door closed behind us, I said, "God, Gideon.
He looks terrible."
"He got knocked around good," he said grimly.
"He's got a skull fracture, a nasty concussion, three cracked ribs, and a broken arm."
The list of injuries was horribly painful to listen to.
"I don't understand why someone would do this."
He pulled me close and pressed his lips to my forehead.
"The doctor said it's possible Cary will be allowed to leave in a day or two, so I'll make arrangements for home care.
I'll also let your work know you won't be coming in."
"Cary's agency needs to know."
"I'll see to it."
"Thank you."