Fighting for Rain - BB Easton Page 0,53

bruised cheek, I wince and realize what he meant.

“Ugh.” I turn my head away and hiss, “What do you care?”

“So, uh …” Lamar mumbles as he and Quint tiptoe around us. “If y’all need us, we’re gonna be … avoiding the hell outta this conversation. Deuces.”

He throws a peace sign up on their way out the door, and suddenly, it’s just me.

And Wes.

Who is still staring at my freshly slapped cheek.

“Who did this to you?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Fucking tell me, Rain.”

“Fine! You did this to me, okay? You. If you had been here, none of this would have happened!”

Wes drops his eyes, the lids stained purple from exhaustion.

Just like mine.

“I’m sorry.” His voice is soft and sincere and makes me want to do stupid things like kiss his violet eyelids, so I turn and walk to the counter to put some space between us instead.

I sit on the dark gray surface next to the medical supplies. It’s better over here. I feel like I can almost think now. Almost.

“I’ve never felt sorry for anything I’ve done before … but I’m sorry for this.” Wes’s eyes lift, and the remorse I see in them is all the apology I need.

I want to run to him and kiss the pain off his face, but I can’t. I’m paralyzed by his presence. All I can do is hold my breath and stare as he crosses the room like a ghost.

“I don’t expect you to understand what it’s like to fear something that doesn’t make any sense”—Wes takes a step toward me. Then, another—“but this”—he gestures between us with the flick of a finger—“this scares the shit out of me.”

Step.

“I was trying to protect myself.”

Step.

“But when I saw that broadcast today …” Wes shakes his head as the color drains from his face. “It made me realize that there’s something I want to protect even more than myself.”

Wes erases the gap between us with one final stride. His body comes to a stop between my dangling legs, and his palms find a home on my trembling thighs.

“I know you think you’re safe here, but you’re not. You taking care of Quint … all these witnesses …”

Wes cups my face just below my busted cheek. I close my eyes and lean into his touch even though it makes everything hurt that much worse.

“Piss off the wrong person, and they can make you disappear with one phone call, Rain.”

I pull my eyes shut tighter and shake my head against his palm.

No one here would do that. Would they?

“Listen, I don’t care if you hate me. I don’t care how bad it hurts to see you with someone else. I don’t care if you ever fucking speak to me again. I will suffer through all of that and more to make sure they don’t fucking take you.”

Wes slowly dips his head forward, but his lips don’t land on my mouth. They fall like a feather onto the raised welt on my right cheekbone. The gesture is so gentle, so sweet, that it breaks my heart in two. I remember how Wes used to flinch and grit his teeth when I cared for his bullet wound. That’s how I feel right now. His tenderness hurts, but only because it’s making me realize how badly I needed it.

My eyes flutter open as a strange sense of déjà vu slithers into my veins. Panic replaces pain as I frantically search the flowers on Wes’s shirt for telltale horseman silhouettes.

“Are you real?” I whisper, touching my fingertips to the orange hibiscus over his heart.

Wes drops his forehead to mine and slides a hand into the hair at the back of my head. “Are you?”

I reach for his breathtaking face with both hands, needing to kiss him, to touch him, to convince myself that this isn’t just another cruel dream, but the sound of a clearing throat shatters the moment like a gunshot.

Wes’s head whips around to face the entrance. Then, his hand forms a fist in my hair when he sees who our unexpected guest is.

Carter’s jaw flexes and nostrils flare as he stands in the doorway, holding a green beer bottle with dandelions and wildflowers sticking out in all directions.

“I came to check on you, but”—he eyes Wes up and down with disgust before turning his disappointment back on me—“looks like you got company.”

Something changes in his demeanor, and suddenly, he’s Cocky Carter from high school, smirking as he crosses the room like he just sank a three-pointer to win the