Then, my senses go numb…
And my eyes close.
23
Stolen Touch
White.
It’s all I can see. At first, when I peel my eyes open, I think I’m in the hospital since the walls are bare and cold, but I quickly realize that I’m wrong. My sight clears up and I glance down at the queen bed under me. I’m in a bedroom. A very empty, untouched, and quiet bedroom.
“Thank God you’re awake.”
My eyes jump to the door that just burst open. Haze’s standing in the doorway, his bruised face and cut lip twisting my heart in my rib cage. His bloodstained T-shirt’s a bit ripped from the fight, and his perfectly messy hair only adds to his roughed-up look. Even like this, he manages to take my breath away.
“How are you feeling?”
“Where are we?” I feel my head with my hand. It hurts so bad.
“In my apartment.” He sits on the edge of the bed.
Since when does Haze have an apartment? How much did I miss while I was locked away in Thomas’s penthouse? I try to sit back up—to demand much-needed answers and clarifications—but fail, my body weighing a million pounds and practically embedding me into the mattress.
“Hey, easy. You hit your head. I’m not letting you move until a doctor looks at you.” He gently pushes me back down. “I called somebody. They’re on their way.”
“What happened?” I ask.
“What happened is you’re crazy, Kingston. What the hell were you thinking stepping into the fight like that? Don’t ever do that again. Not for me.” He flinches at the reminder and runs his fingers along my jaw. His guilty eyes fall to my mouth for a few seconds. I sigh in relief. He’s okay. I did stop the fight, even if it took me almost getting into a freaking coma to do it.
Don’t ever do that again. Not for me.
For who, then, Haze? If not for the goddamn idiot I love more than I thought possible, for who?
“Kendrick pushed you out of the way before Will punched you. You fell and hit your head on a stupid bench.”
So, this is what I have to thank for the pounding in my skull. Hitting my head on a bench. Yep, that’ll do it.
“I’m so sorry I brought you into this.” He takes my fingers and brings them to his mouth. He kisses the back of my hand, and I want to melt at the sweet gesture. Then, because I have the worst timing on earth, a rather evil idea comes to me.
“I’m sorry… Who are you?”
His jaw hangs.
“What? What do you mean? I’m Haze. I’m your boyf—” He stops talking. “Was your boyfriend.”
I appreciate that he’s not lying about our relationship status. He could’ve tried to take advantage of my
“amnesia” to get his way, but he didn’t. I burst out laughing at the look on his face. His shoulders sink with relief as he lets out a disapproving sigh.
“So not funny.”
“Oh come on, it’s a little funny. Admit it.” I grin, the smile on my face eventually rubbing off on his. I laugh quietly and try to sit back up again, only to fail… again. “Since when do you have an apartment?” I glance around the room. It’s barely been lived in. The only pieces of furniture are a bed and a lamp.
“Since my psycho brother slash roommate kidnapped the girl I love and tried to have her killed. Not exactly an ideal living situation, you see?” he teases, barely holding my hand like he’s afraid I’m going to break if he squeezes.
Hearing him refer to me as “the girl he loves” serves as a detonator to the truth I’ve been keeping locked away. It threatens to break through my barriers and the concrete walls I spent days building around my heart.
Why am I not dating him right now?