by Cat Mason
“Of course,” Phyllis beams brightly. Retrieving a small gold envelope from the center, she hands it to Henley. “Although I’m surprised Mr. Hammon hasn’t been here to see you yet. He seemed very concerned when I spoke with him about you earlier this morning.”
Looking down at the card, Henley’s expression hardens. “I’m sure he was.”
Oblivious to the change in Henley’s mood, Phyllis gives her a smile and squeezes her shoulder. “I’ll let you rest. Feel better, sweetheart.”
“Care to tell me why you’re probably the only woman I know who gets pissed when a man sends her flowers?” I ask once we’re alone again.
“Not particularly.” She tosses the card beside the flowers without opening it. “Let’s just say I’m not a fan of roses.”
“Or the name Hammon?” I ask, snatching the card. Opening it, I scan the black printed ink before tucking it into my shirt pocket for later. “You know that trust thing? It’ll need to go both ways, Henley.”
“You’re right,” she breathes, meeting my eyes. “I hate the name Hammon even more than I hate roses. So much, in fact, that when the divorce was final, I had no problem going back to Wolfe.”
“Hammon’s your ex?” I ask, though the look on her face answers the question for me. Scratching my beard, I decide to dig into this a little bit. “Last night. Think he’s involved?”
“No,” Henley snorts, almost laughing. “Daniel is an asshole. Not a—” Stopping mid-sentence, she shakes her head. “I never thought something like this would happen to me, Colt.” Her voice cracks, the emotion she has been working so hard to hide from everyone seeping through the cracks in her walls. “It’s scary to think someone wants you dead.”
“Hey.” I push to my feet, the need to comfort her overpowering me. “You let me worry about that shit. It doesn’t touch you.”
“But it did.” Stretching, she reaches for the water bottle on the table. “How do you fight against something you can’t see coming, Colt? Is it even possible to stop them from coming at me again if you don’t know who the enemy is?”
“Here.” Pushing to my feet, I snatch it before she can and twist off the cap. “Let me get that.” Tucking the stray strands of hair behind her ear, I lift the bottle to her lips. She sips slowly, a few drops escaping the corner of her mouth and dribbling down her chin. Putting the bottle back on the table, I swipe the drops away with my thumb, carefully tracing the bruise on her cheek. “I’m gonna hunt those motherfuckers down and make ‘em pay for every bruise.”
Meeting my eyes, her breath hitches. “Colt.” My name leaves her lips on a breathless whisper. It grips me by the throat.
“I thought you were gonna die right in front of me.” Tipping up her chin, I search her face. Cupping her unbandaged cheek, I lean down and press my lips to hers quickly.
Easing back, I meet her eyes, expecting her to give me a dose of that sass before telling me to go to hell. Instead, Henley sighs softly, her good hand coming up to cover mine, still on her cheek. Looking up at me with wide eyes, she licks her lips. When she breathes my name again, I fucking lose it.
Cupping the back of her head, I crush my mouth to hers. My kiss starts off gentle and slow, but the taste of the woman I’ve spent a year craving explodes on my tongue, making it impossible to control myself. I can’t focus on anything other than her. I couldn’t give a damn about the fact that we are in a hospital room, or that she is in bed, hooked up to dozens of tubes and wires. The need to really kiss this woman outweighs everything else in my mind.
Henley whimpers, her hand dropping to flatten against my chest. “Colt,” she whispers on a ragged breath.
“Shit,” I hiss under my breath, immediately noticing the change in her tone. Forcing myself to stop, I pull back. “Did I hurt you?”
“No.” She gives me a small, reassuring smile. “I’m just sore.”
Relieved, I press a kiss to her forehead. “Sorry, babe,” I whisper into her hair. Putting the bottle back on the table, I grab my soda and sit back down in the chair. “Been waitin’ a long time to do that.”
Pressing her fingers to her lips, Henley slowly turns her head to look at me. “So, what happens now that you have, Beefcake?” she asks, blinking slowly.
“Things change,” I tell her honestly. “For starters, once you’re outta here, I sure as shit won’t be sleepin’ another night without you next to me when I’m not gone on a run.”
Seven
Henley
It takes four days after my failed attempt at becoming a human speed bump before I am given the go ahead to walk out of the hospital. With my feet on the floor, and my arm and shoulder cleared by the surgeon, I outright refuse to be pushed out in a damn wheelchair. Call it stubborn pride if you want, but there isn't anything wrong with my damn legs. Thankfully, when Donnie and the nurse come at me tag team style to lecture me on my decision, Colt comes to my defense.
Carefully slipping his arm around me, he escorts me downstairs to my car himself. Though, he does agree with them that I have no business driving yet. Figuring he needs a win in order to keep from crushing his fragile ego, I don't fight him on the subject. Instead, I climb into the passenger seat and wait on my brother to get behind the wheel. My eyes, however, stay fixed on Colt the entire time the two of them stand at my back bumper talking.
Since the night Colt made his move and changed our dynamic by kissing me, the big lug of a man has spent time here every day. Not that I mind, I just don’t know what to make of the guy most of the time. It is very clear to me that Colt is a man with layers, and I haven’t even begun to scratch the surface yet.
While there is a lot I don’t know about the man behind the beard, I will admit that being able to shamelessly stare at him all the time is a definite perk. Along with the fact that I can actually carry on a conversation with him for longer than two minutes without wanting to punch him in the face. Unlike my brother, who has been making me wonder what my chances are when it comes to pleading insanity if I happen to lose my shit and kill him off.
Now that I've been deemed fit to finish recuperating from my injuries at home, priority one is the detaching of the brotherly shadow from my backside. Though, I can already see that regaining my privacy and independence is going to be harder than I originally thought. The entire ride to my apartment is spent strategizing exactly where to begin.
Over the last few days, the only alone time I have had is in the bathroom. Donnie became aware of the whole 'jellybean agreement' Colt and I had going, informing me that my use of a 'safeword' was not going to get rid of him. In fact, the prick rarely left the hospital. And, when he did, Colt was guaranteed to show up.
"Okay," Donnie says, opening the passenger side door. "Let's get you upstairs." Unmoving, my eyes are fixed on the reflection in the side mirror as Colt pulls up behind us and climbs off a bike I haven’t seen him ride before. Turning in the seat, I groan as every muscle flexes beneath his leather and tight black t-shirt. After watching him closely the last few days, I'm positive the only reason the man's clothes don't rip under the strain is because they refuse to let go of him. I am fully engaged in eye fuck mode, with no plans on stopping, when Donnie steps off the curb, blocking my view. "Here," he says, sliding one arm behind my back, and the other under my legs.
"Fuck a duck, Donnie. Stop it!" I huff for what feels like the millionth time in the last few days. "I told you, there's nothing wrong with my fucking legs." This guy may be my blood, but I am seriously two seconds away from strangling him. Not only does he annoy the shit out of me by the constant hovering, but now he is standing in my way of ogling that denim and leather wrapped slab of unbelievably sexy beefcake.
"Smartass," Donnie grumbles under his breath. Moving his hold to my good arm, he steps back, allowing me to work my way to my feet. "I don't like this," he says, huffing out a frustrated breath. "Your ass should be on lockdown at the clubhouse. I can protect you better when I can cage you in behind barbed wire."
"You're so annoy
ing," I grunt, my ribs smarting when I step from the running board to the curb. "Why are you still here?"
"Love you too, Hen," he chuckles, pushing the door closed.
"That love will be what puts my ass in the nut house," I snap, moving up the sidewalk.
Both men follow me into the building as if they were my very own presidential style security detail. It really couldn't be more annoying. Stepping around me, Donnie slaps the call button for the ancient elevator that isn't much larger than a Kleenex box. "Nope." Shaking my head, I head for the stairs. "You couldn't get me in that deathtrap if it was filled with booze and nachos."
"For fucks sake," he bites out, yanking a hand through his hair. "You're supposed to take it easy."
"And I plan to." Grabbing onto the railing, I bite back the groan when the ache in my side begins to intensify. "By getting upstairs to the couch, without getting my ass stuck for hours in an elevator that hasn't been serviced since you had a mullet. I've got myself a fully stocked liquor cabinet and enough snacks to last until the sexy UPS guy shows up in his tight brown shorts with my weekly Amazon Prime order."
"Easy there, Hotness." Rushing to my side, Colt presses a hand to my lower back. "It's not a race."
Every step hurt like a bitch, my body painfully resisting every move I make. Though, I sure as hell won't be telling Sir Nags A lot that. Being carried bridal style up two flights of stairs by my older brother isn't on the schedule today. Or ever. Instead, I bite the inside of my cheek and keep huffing alongside Colt, refusing to give my brother the satisfaction of saying I told you so. The overbearing shithead would enjoy that way too much.
The door to the apartment I share with my best friend, Rebel, swings open before I even reach it. "It's about freaking time!" she screeches, pulling me into a tight hug. "Welcome home, Crash Test Dummy."
"Thanks," I grunt, gripping onto her arms to keep me upright. It isn't lost on me how she isn't treating me like a wounded bird. That's not her style. Rebel knows all too well that I wouldn't handle that shit coming from her anyway. One more reason it's good to be home.
Loosening her hold, she takes a step back. "So, you're Colt?" she asks, her head snapping in his direction so fast I worry she may have gotten whiplash. Looking him up and down, she arches a brow. "Boy, Henley wasn't kidding. You are a big one."
"Christ, woman," my brother barks, shaking his head. "You ever think about what you say before it comes tumblin' out your mouth?"
"I used to," Rebel replies, winking at Donnie. "Until your sister caught my conscience in the kitchen at two am. She slashed the little fucker's throat over some Girl’s Scout Cookies and shoved him in the garbage disposal." Shrugging her shoulders, she clicks her tongue. "Poor thing never stood a chance."
"You're crazy as hell," Donnie fires back, yanking a hand through his hair.
"Anyway." Dismissing my brother, Rebel flashes me a devious smile. "Per doctor's orders, I've given my Visa one hell of a workout to make sure we have an unholy amount of man candy, worthy of a recuperation binge. Along with pizza and wine."
"Doctor's orders?" I ask, calling her on her bullshit excuse to binge on all things abdominally delicious. Rebel is always ready for a night filled with sexy, shirtless men filling our big screen television. Bonus points if it involves superheroes and villains. "D.C. or Marvel?" I ask curiously.
"Marvel," she replies confidently. "What do you take me for?"
"You pulled out the big guns," I say, impressed.
"With you nearly dying and all, I felt like it was necessary."
"How 'bout you let her inside," Donnie snaps. "She needs to be off her feet."
“Your patience is thinning faster than your hairline,” I scold, knowing my snide remark will dig at him for hours.
Rebel's eyes snap up, her icy glare shooting over my shoulder to my brother. "Bite me, Donnie," she growls in response. "Henley doesn't need me to let her in. Unlike you, she actually lives here."
"Well, I don’t need to see this one play out," I mutter, rolling my eyes. My brother and best friend have always seemed to walk a fine line between shrewd banter and threats of violence. When they get this intense you can only smile and nod. Then dodge the bloodshed. "If you two plan on fighting to the death out here, at least make sure someone cleans up the mess when you're done. I've got an orgy planned on my couch with pizza, a tall bottle of red, and hours of much needed time binging on action scenes and shirtless screen time."
"No alcohol with your meds!" Donnie shouts after me when I step through the door.
"Booze it is then," I nod, satisfied with my decision to his ultimatum.
Our apartment isn't huge, but the open living room and kitchen make it feel a good deal larger than it is. Of course that changes as soon as Colt's big ass steps through the door and sucks all the air out of the room as he heads my way.
Heading for the kitchen island, the smell of my favorite California Chicken pizza hits me immediately. My stomach rumbles, my appetite returning for the first time in what feels like forever. Not that I haven’t eaten. Between Donnie's aggravating attempts at force feeding me the shit off the hospital meal trays, to Colt's Mary Poppins style pocket of various snacks, someone is always trying to feed me something. Although, I will admit, this is the first time since I was hurt that I actually want something to eat. Leave it to Rebel to order the one thing I can't resist.
Flipping open the pizza box, I don't even bother biting back the moan that escapes my lips the second I lay eyes on the eight slices of perfection. "Fuckin' hell," Donnie mutters, kicking the door closed behind him. "You gonna eat it, or fuck it, Henley? You sound like a two-dollar hooker." Heading straight for the fridge, he digs out a beer.
"Do your whores charge by the minute, Donnie?" I ask, successfully managing to plate the two biggest slices one-handedly.
"Or do they give you a pity fuck discount?" Rebel chimes in, failing to suppress her giggle. Donnie shoots her one of his horrifying death glares, earning him a big smile and both her middle fingers.
"That looks good," Colt says, stepping between them to get to me. Snatching a slice from the box, he crams half of it into his mouth. "What's on it?"
Shocked, I look up into his eyes, not even trying to mask my amusement as I study him. "You always shove things in your mouth before you know what's in them?" I ask, moving toward the cabinet for a glass.
"Concerned for my well-being?" he snorts, finishing off the slice.
"No. I'm sure you hold your own just fine." Grabbing a glass, I navigate sitting it on the counter, before closing the cabinet. "The sauce is some kind of ranch dressing base. Usually it only comes with grilled chicken and mozzarella cheese."
"But Hen and I learned perfecting this masterpiece required adding bacon and tomato," Rebel finishes for me.
"It's different," Colt admits, following me. "Good, too."
"That shit's too fancy for my ass," Donnie complains, fumbling with the other boxes. "You order any real pizza?"
"Unrefined savage," Rebel huffs, rolling her eyes. "Supreme is over there. Along with whatever three meat bullshit the guy on the phone managed to talk me into because it was half price."
My eyes drop to the unopened bottle of wine. "I've got this," Colt says, his hand pressing to my back. "You should sit."
"Is that an order?" I ask, quizzically.
"Hell no." His thumb strokes up and down my back in slow soothing movements as his deep blue eyes bore into mine. "Let's call it a compromise."
I try to hold back my smile, only to fail miserably. "Smart man."
"You know it," he replies, confidence dripping from his lips. "A smart woman would go sit her ass down on that couch, cue up one of those movies your girl lined up for you to watch, and leave the rest to me."
"Would she?" I ask, only fractionally challenging him.
"Yeah, babe." His smirk widens into a full-blown smile, capable of melting the panties off a nun. "Because she's in no shape for me to do all the things that run through my mind
every time she challenges me with that smart mouth."
Swallowing hard, I nod as a tremor runs through my entire body. "Fair enough."
Gripping the back of my neck, he presses his lips to my forehead quickly before going to work on opening the wine. Needing to distance myself from the heat radiating off his body, I grab my plate and head for the couch. Placing my food on the end table, next to the remote, I settle back into the cushions before pulling the black fleece blanket over my legs and grabbing the remote for the television. Pulling up our Amazon account, I scroll through the list of movies Rebel has waiting, smiling when I see one of my favorites. Clicking play, I return the remote to the table before grabbing for my plate again.
"Really, Hen?" Donnie mumbles around a mouthful of pizza. His eyes shift between Rebel and me. "Please tell me you don't have a hard on for Daredevil."
"Who said we're watching for the hero?" I ask, waggling my brows. "The best part of this movie is Colin Ferrell."
"It’s more fun rooting for the bad guy, Donnie," Rebel snorts, walking around to join me. Leaving the spot between us open, she sits Indian style on the opposite end of the couch. "Personally, I'm more of an Ajax from Deadpool girl myself, but Mr. Ferrell is a close second."
Clearing his throat, Donnie turns his attention back to his food. Carrying a plate stacked high with pizza, and my glass of wine, Colt heads my way. Sitting my drink down on the table, he sits beside me. Stretching his long legs, he takes two pieces of pizza and stacks them sandwich style before taking a huge bite.
Just as Bullseye starts to really fuck up shit for Daredevil, the doorbell rings. Leaping out of his seat, Donnie is across the room before I can even think about getting to my feet. “What did I tell you about putting in a peephole?” he asks, grabbing the doorknob. “How the hell are you supposed to know who’s on the other side of this door?”
“We do this,” Rebel counters, cupping her mouth with both hands. “Who the fuck is it?”