Rafe (Inked Brotherhood 5)

A small crowd has gathered, and I’m sitting on my ass in the snow, bent over, hair in my eyes. What a day from hell.

I accept another guy’s hand to get up and grit my teeth against the waves of pain radiating from my chest.

The guy grabs my arm, steadying me when I sway slightly to the side.

“Shall we call someone for you?” a woman asks, reaching into her purse, probably for her cell. “Shall we call an ambulance?”

“I’m fine,” I mumble, focused on staying upright. I have a high pain threshold, and already my brain is working on ignoring the soreness. “Thanks for…” For saving my life. Holy shit, I came close, didn’t I?

“Are you sure?” The guy is still holding my arm and I pull free.

“Yeah. I’m…”

“He’s with me,” a woman’s soft voice says, a voice I know, one that makes my breath catch every single time.

Megan.

She squeezes through the people gathered around me to reach my side. “Here you are. Looked everywhere for you.” Relief shines through her eyes as she stretches out her hand. “Ready to go home?”

I’m still caught between the “looked everywhere for you” and that “go home” part, my eyes doing that stingy-burny thing again. My body, though, has no doubt whatsoever as to what’s gonna happen.

I take her hand, breathe out. “I’m ready.”

Chapter Thirteen

Megan

Holding on tight to Rafe’s hand, I open a path through the small crowd. He looks battered, one side of his face bruised, white lines of pain around his beautiful mouth. He’s moving stiffly, and I wonder just how bad his fall was.

The thought I almost lost him turns my blood into ice.

If not for all the honking and yelling and screeching of tires, I wouldn’t have looked out of my window, wouldn’t have come down to see if I could help. Wouldn’t have found him.

He stumbles as we enter the building, and I release his hand in favor of wrapping an arm around his lean hips.

“Hit your head?” I ask, worried.

He touches his bruised jaw gingerly and grimaces. “Nah, this is from yesterday.”

I vow to get him to talk this time, find out what’s on his mind, and what happened since the night he left my apartment, letting me believe he was done with me. I know now it wasn’t true. All he’s done ever since was look out for me. My turn to look out for him.

“Yesterday.” I steer him toward the elevator. “Got into a fight?”

“Sort of.” He closes his eyes as we ride up, blond lashes resting on high cheekbones. “Got jumped.”

“What?” My stomach clenches. “What happened?”

He says nothing.

Something’s very wrong here. He opens his eyes as the elevator doors open and the bleakness in them has me tightening my hold on him. He’s got that thousand yard stare you see on men returning from war, empty and exhausted with life.

The anniversary is today. A terrible, terrible suspicion hits me, and I need to know I’m wrong.

“Rafe, tell me you didn’t step in front of that car on purpose.” I swallow against a dry throat. “Did you?”

He swallows hard, his mouth tightening.

He doesn’t deny it.