He brushed the back of his hand against her cheek, surprised at the heat radiating from her, at the dry parchment quality of her skin. “Hey. You okay?”
Nicole blinked again, nothing more than a few flutters of her eyelids before they closed once more. She murmured something and turned again, wincing. A hiss of pain escaped her, causing her eyes to pop open. Her brows were lowered in a frown, small lines of tension bracketing her mouth. She looked around, her gaze finally resting on him, slowly focusing. She tried to push up, putting the weight on her left arm. Another hiss of pain escaped her and she fell back against the mattress with a small whimper.
What the hell? Mat’s concern morphed into something stronger and he leaned forward, sliding his arm under her and easing her to a sitting position. Her head dropped to his shoulder, the heat coming from her body alarming him.
“Nicole, talk to me. What’s wrong?” Christ, had he done something to her last night? Even as the thought came to him, he was pushing it away. No, there was nothing they’d done that could have caused this. She was burning up with fever, her skin too dry, too hot.
She mumbled something, her words muffled against his neck.
“What was that, baby? Talk to me.”
“Thirsty.”
He brushed his lips across her forehead then eased her back against the mattress, adjusting one of the many pillows behind her head. Then he hurried across to the master bathroom, flipping on the light and making a beeline to the medicine cabinet.
Ibuprofen. Acetaminophen. Aspirin. Christ, he had all of them plus some. Which one should he grab? What if she was allergic to one of them? Fuck it. He grabbed all three bottles and filled the glass from the faucet before hurrying back to Nicole.
What could be wrong with her? Was it the flu? Would it have come on this fast, faster than overnight? She had been fine yesterday, fine last night. If it was the flu, wouldn’t she have had some symptoms? A scratchy throat? Something?
He placed the glass of water and bottles of medicine on the nightstand then sat on the edge of the bed. Nicole hadn’t moved, a frown still etched on her face.
“Nicole? I have your water. And some medicine. Can you sit up?”
Her eyes fluttered open, drifted shut, fluttered open again. She shook her head even as she struggled to push herself up. He reached over, slid his hand under her arm to help her sit up again.
A small scream escaped her lips and she pulled away, reaching for her arm as she rolled to her side.
What the hell? Mat jerked back, afraid he’d hurt her, afraid he’d done something to her. But that couldn’t be. She was holding her arm, her hand wrapped loosely around the back of her bicep. It was the same arm she’d said she hurt at work. He looked down at his hand, saw a smear of something wet on his fingers and palm. What the fuck?
He leaned over and turned on the light. “Nicole, what’s wrong?”
She shook her head, her lids fluttering open once more. Her eyes were still glazed, bright with fever as she looked at him. “Nothing. I’m just…” Her voice drifted off and her tongue dashed out, running across her dry lips. “I think I’m coming down with something.”
“It’s more than that.” Definitely more than that, with the way she was holding her arm, with whatever was on his hand. But why would she lie to him? He reached over and gently moved her hand. “Here, let me look—”
She tried to pull her arm away but didn’t have the strength. The muscles beneath his hands tensed, then went limp as he gently moved it, lifting her arm up so he could get a better look.
And immediately wished he hadn’t.
Mat swallowed, a dozen different emotions tearing through him. Confusion. Concern. Sympathy. And rage. Rage like he’d never felt before. Burning, blinding.
Deep gouges ran across the back of her upper arm, along the sensitive fleshy part. Three of them, each about the width of a finger—or a fingernail. The gouges were deep, each an angry red. The skin around each was swollen, the flesh too hot, the marks themselves oozing pus and blood.
Mat clenched his jaw, biting back each curse that wanted to tumble from his mouth. Nicole hadn’t hurt herself at work. No, someone had done this to her. Deliberately.
He eased her arm down then walked over to the curtains, pulling them open to let in even more light. Nicole’s breath came out in a sharp gasp when light flooded the room but that couldn’t be helped. Mat needed more light, needed to get a better look at her arm.
He sat down next to her and took her arm again, ignoring her weak protests when he raised it for a better look.
The bottom of his stomach dropped open, letting in an icy blast that momentarily froze him. It wasn’t just gouges that marred her skin. In the bright morning light, he could now make out the bruising that accompanied the wounds, mottling the flesh and darkening the bright colors of her tattoos. The bruises circled her upper arm, dark shadows that mirrored the image of fingers and thumb.
Bile rose in his stomach, hot and acidic, at the sight; at the realization that someone had done this to her. Deliberately. Mat had been playing hockey long enough, had enough experience with bumps and bruises, cuts and broken bones, to know the difference.
How in the fuck had he not seen this last night? Not noticed it? Because he’d been so focused on sex, so intent on driving himself into Nicole, on losing himself in her body, that he hadn’t been paying attention to anything else. He’d been so fucking selfish, so intent on himself, that he’d completely missed it.
So what the hell kind of man did that make him?
Mat swallowed, forced himself to take a deep breath. He would have to deal with that later. Right now, it was only Nicole who mattered.
“Nicole. Who did this?” His voice was too clipped, his anger clear. He took another deep breath and repeated the question, but Nicole only shook her head.
Had it been someone at work? One of the patrons at the club? Or someone else? Why the fuck would someone hurt a woman this way? Who the fuck would hurt a woman this way?
“Nicole, your arm is infected. Now tell me, who did this to you?”
She turned her head away, her breathing ragged and shallow. For a long minute, she said nothing and Mat was convinced she wouldn’t answer him at all. But she took a deep breath as he held his own, waiting.
“It was an accident. It was my fault.”
“Bullshit.” He growled the word, unable to help himself, unable to hide the anger, the rage, tearing him apart. She turned her head, not quite looking at him, her feverish eyes staring past him.
They sat that way for a few quiet minutes, the air around them thick and heavy. Mat slowly lowered her arm then moved from the bed, his heart thundering in his chest as he crossed the room to his dresser, each step short and clipped as he fought the anger roiling through his body.
He pulled open drawers, rummaging through each, not really seeing anything clearly. None of the clothes he pulled out would work for her, not really, but he didn’t know what else to do.
He moved back to the bed, surprised that Nicole had moved, surprised to see her struggling to sit up, reaching for the water. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, supporting her, holding the glass as she drank. He placed the empty glass on the nightstand then held out the t-shirt he’d grabbed.
“Let’s get this on you—”
“Where’s my shirt?”
“Nicole, you can’t wear your shirt, not with your arm. Come on, put this on then we’ll get you to the hospital.” He eased the shirt over her head, then her good arm. She blinked, frowned, shook her head.
“I need to go home. I…I have to work.” Her voice was just above a whisper, weak and almost desperate as she leaned against him. Mat didn’t even think she realized she was doing it.
“Not tonight you don’t. You need to get that arm checked out before it gets worse.” He finished getting the shirt on her, pausing to roll the left sleeve up so it wouldn’t rub against the wounds.
Then he eased her back on the bed and
worked the sweatpants up her legs, over her hips to her waist, tying them so they wouldn’t fall off. Nicole barely moved, her eyes closed, her breathing shallow. Her skin was still too hot, too flushed.
How long had the fever been burning? And how high was too high? He knew there was a dangerous point, but what the fuck was it? He didn’t know, only knew that a sense of urgency suddenly seized him. What if he’d already wasted too much time?
Stop. Mat closed his eyes and took a deep breath, filling his lungs, holding it in for a count of ten. One more. He needed to push away the rage and the worry, because neither one would help Nicole. Not right now. Once he got her to the hospital, got her checked out, then he could lose his shit. But for now, he had to keep his head on straight.
He took another deep breath then moved from the bed, quickly changing from the loose gym shorts into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. His foot brushed against something and he nearly tripped, catching himself at the last minute.
Nicole’s backpack sat on the floor, partially pushed under the bed. He started to step around it then stopped. She’d need her id for the hospital, and who knew what else.
Mat grabbed the backpack and hooked the straps around his shoulder. Then he leaned over and scooped Nicole into his arms, careful not to move her arm more than necessary.
Her head dropped against his shoulder and she muttered something, her breath warm against his neck. But he couldn’t make out the words. It wasn’t until he had her safely buckled in the front seat of his car, her backpack resting on the floor between her legs, that he finally caught what she was saying, finally understood her mutterings.
“I can’t.” She licked at her dry lips and shook her head, her glazed eyes meeting his. The look in their amber depths—fear, anxiety, embarrassment—hit him with the force of a puck to the throat. “No insurance.”
Mat curled his hand around the doorframe, surprised the metal didn’t crumple under his grip. He leaned forward and brushed his lips against her forehead, hoping to reassure her.
“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”
Her eyes widened, just a fraction before her lids drifted shut and her head tilted to the side. Instead of looking reassured, she had looked frightened. Or maybe Mat was only imagining things. It didn’t matter.
He closed the door and moved around to the other side of the car. He could worry about what he may or may not have seen in her eyes later. Right now, his first priority was taking care of Nicole.
Chapter Fifteen
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Derek’s usual grin was gone, his lips pursed in an angry line. Mat glanced around the bustling hall then stepped closer, ready to grab Derek around the throat, ready to tell him to keep his voice down. Better yet, to just keep his mouth shut.
But Bridget beat him to it, stepping closer to Derek’s side and rubbing her hand along his back in soothing circles. At least, Mat figured they must be soothing because Derek calmed almost instantly, his mouth slowly relaxing, the color of his face fading from an angry red to a frustrated pink.
“Derek, not so loud.” Bridget glanced around, her brows furrowed in concern before turning to Mat.
“Thanks, Bridget. At least you understand.”
“But I don’t, Mat. Not really.”
Mat’s jaw closed with a snap. He ran a hand through his hair then dragged it down his face. Stubble scratched his palm, the rasping sound echoing in his ear, reminding him that he hadn’t shaved in more than twenty-four hours. Not since yesterday, before he left the house to pick Nicole up for their picnic date.
Had that been just yesterday? So much had happened since then, the hours warped in his mind from all the time they’d been in the hospital. He glanced at his watch, looking at it twice, his mind fighting to count the hours.
Had it really been that long? Yeah, it had been. Nearly eight hours had passed since he first pulled into the emergency room parking lot. They were upstairs now, a few feet away from Nicole’s room, where she’d be spending at least one night.
She had been given some IV antibiotics and her arm had been cleaned in the ER—after waiting entirely too long to be seen. Nicole had barely been able to fill out the paperwork, she’d been so out of it with fever. So Mat had finished for her, asking the questions, waiting with infinite patience for each answer. And then they’d reach the part of financial responsibility, of who would be responsible for anything not covered by insurance. Nicole had simply looked away, shaking her head.
Mat didn’t even hesitate, didn’t think anything through, just entered his own personal information.
And then they waited. Nicole was finally called back and Mat went with her, standing off to the side of the cramped curtained cubicle. He’d been in a daze, his focus only on Nicole, on how she seemed to be getting worse before his eyes. He told himself that couldn’t be possible, that it was nothing more than his imagination. And then he noticed the quiet murmurings, the intent looks being shot his way as one nurse helped Nicole into a hospital gown while the other examined her arm.
And then he’d been asked to leave, to wait outside. The request was too short and authoritative to be anything but a command so he complied, his concern and confusion swirling and morphing into something else, something he didn’t want to acknowledge.
But he knew, just knew, what was going through their minds. They thought he was responsible for what happened to Nicole. That he had been the one to hurt her. To grab her arm hard enough to leave angry bruises on her soft skin, to gouge her flesh with his nails, opening her skin, dirtying it to the point of causing an infection.
Mat had looked over at Nicole, at her flushed and restless body stretched out on the sterile hospital bed. His stomach lurched, filling with bile, the burning acid eating its way up his throat. He swallowed it back and turned away, his jaw clenched as he stalked from the cubicle.
Then he called Derek, not sure what else to do, only knowing he needed to talk to someone. Knowing he needed advice, needed a friendly face or a voice of reason or something.
Yeah, he probably shouldn’t have called Derek. Kenny would have been a better choice, with his moments of silence and calm reassurance, with his ability to see things that others missed. But he’d called Derek, somehow knowing that Bridget would come with him.
Mat thought that maybe having Bridget here, that having a woman—someone who wasn’t a complete stranger—might help Nicole. Except Bridget hadn’t even been in to see Nicole. There hadn’t been time, not until now, not with everything else going on.
The police had actually shown up, one officer disappearing behind the curtain while the other herded Mat into an empty cubicle. The questions had come one after the other, over and over. Several questions were rephrased and asked again until Mat had even begun questioning himself, wondering if maybe he really had done something wrong.
Then the first officer, the one who’d gone in with Nicole, came back out. Some wordless communication passed between the two and then, just like that, Mat had been exonerated. But he still didn’t know who had hurt Nicole, didn’t even know if the officers knew.
And now Nicole was in her room with another bag of IV antibiotics and Mat was standing out in the hallway, completely speechless as Derek and Bridget studied him.
“What the hell were you thinking, man? You don’t just agree to be responsible for someone like that!”
“Derek, keep your voice down.” Bridget rubbed her hand along his back one more time, her eyes never leaving Mat. “Help us understand, Mat. I mean, what you did…”
“I just—” He stopped, ran a hand through his hair again, and let out a heavy sigh. He just—what? Yeah, he’d assumed financial responsibility. What the hell else was he supposed to do? No, he hadn’t been thinking. But he’d do it again, no questions asked. “You’re making a bigger deal out of it than it is.”
“Are you fucking insane?” Derek repeated the question for what seemed to be the hundredth time but at least he wasn’t shouting it. “I
don’t think you have any idea how much this shit is going to cost.”
“You think I give a fuck about that? You didn’t see her, dude. So don’t fucking tell me—”
“Knock it off, both of you.” Bridget stepped between them, fire flashing in her eyes. She brushed a thick strand of red curls away from her face then placed a hand on Mat’s arm. “Mat, I know you meant well but I still don’t understand why you would do something like that.”
“Because I had to.”
“You mean because you think you’re in love and hearing wedding bells.”
“Fuck you, asshole—”
Something hit him in the chest. Not hard, not painful, just enough pressure to cut off his words and stop him from going after Derek. He looked down, surprised to see Bridget squaring off with him and Derek at the same time, a hand planted firmly in the middle of each of their chests. But why should he be surprised? He knew how strong-willed Bridget was, knew how stubborn she could be.
He immediately took a step back, ready to apologize. But she waved it off, her glare warning both of them to behave.
“Neither one of you are helping anything by acting like this.” Bridget leveled a meaningful glance at Derek, who let out a deep breath and stepped back. Mat didn’t miss the expression of irritation and impatience that crossed his face but he didn’t say anything.
“Mat, what do you need from us?”
He turned back to Bridget, not sure how to answer. How could he put into words the jumbled torrent of emotions running through him? Anger, rage, concern, guilt, exhaustion, worry. And so much more. And none of it made sense, no matter how he tried to sort through it. All he knew was that someone had hurt Nicole—and he was helpless to do anything about it.
He glanced over at Derek, taking in the man’s irritation and clenched jaw, then turned back to Bridget. “Could you—would you go in to talk to her?”
Shoot Out (The Baltimore Banners Book 7) Page 15