Until May (Until Her/Him)

Chapter 12

May

I BLINK MYeyes open when the pain in my hand registers, and I notice then that I’m lying half on top of Aiden with my cheek pillowed against his bicep, my thigh on his hip, and my arm curled around his waist. I didn’t lie when I told him I don’t like to cuddle. I never have—or I thought I didn’t anyway—before him. Lifting my head, I scan the room, finding it just as bare as I remember it being before I fell asleep.

I close my eyes and rest my head back where it was as last night comes back to me like a flash of lightning. The cops showing up and taking our statements along with about a dozen photos. Aiden taking me to the hospital after they left so I could get four stitches in my palm. Then Aiden refusing to let me stay at my house, packing up the animals, and taking us all to his place, which is the definition of a bachelor pad.

“You should be sleeping.” Aiden’s voice vibrates against my ear, and I tip my head back as he dips his chin so he can meet my gaze. “You didn’t pass out until after three.”

“I know.”

“Is your hand bothering you?” He runs his fingers down my arm, then lifts my hand from where it was resting over his waist and places it against his bare chest.

“A little.”

“I’ll make you something to eat and get you some Tylenol.” He kisses my forehead, then slides out from under me. Once he’s standing, he rests his hands on the bed and leans toward me, causing his biceps to flex. “Pancakes or a bagel?”

“A bagel sounds good.” I pull my eyes off his torso to meet his gaze.

“Good, because I don’t have the stuff to make pancakes,” he says, and I laugh, watching his face soften as he dips it closer to mine. “Do you want coffee?”

“Do you have stuff to make coffee?”

“I do.” He grins.

“Then yes, please.” I lean up as he swoops down to kiss me, then fall to my back and watch him leave the room wearing nothing but a pair of black boxers that fit him like a second skin.

Rolling to the side of the bed, I reach down for my cell phone that is on the floor, since there isn’t a side table, and pick it up. Last night, I called my principal to let her know what happened, and she insisted I take the day off. So I don’t need to worry about work, but I do need to figure out what to tell my parents about what happened so they aren’t totally freaked out.

I click on the screen, and as soon as it lights up, a message from a number not programed into my phone causes my blood to run cold and fear to settle like a heavy weight in my gut.

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.

Tears burn my throat as I read that text again, hoping I misread it the first time, but it stays the same. There is only one person who would send me that message, meaning what happened last night was my fault. And Aiden could have been shot, because I trusted the wrong person and was naïve enough to believe Mike was just a nuisance and nothing more, that he would go away if I just ignored him.

“What the fuck happened?” Aiden barks, snapping me out of my thoughts, and I quickly sit up while tossing back the blankets, feeling frantic.

“I gotta go.” I get off the bed and start to search for my clothes or my bag, since all I have on is the T-shirt he gave me last night.

“You’re crying.” His eyes scan my face as he walks toward me.

“I need to go home.” I hold up my hands, and he stops a foot away from me. “Where are my clothes?”

“Doll, you’re freaking me out. What the fuck happened?”

“I…” I swallow and shake my head. “I… I can’t do this. I need to go.” I try to get around him, but he steps in my path, cutting me off, then his eyes drop to my phone still in my hand.

“Who called you?”

“No one.” I go to the left, but he steps to the side, cutting me off again.

“Let me see your phone.”

“Where are my clothes?” I start to panic, knowing that if I don’t get out of here, if he touches me, I’m going to break down completely.

“Baby, let me see your phone,” he says gently and tears burn the back of my throat.

“Just let me leave. Please, I have to go,” I beg, backing up, then close my eyes when I bump into the wall behind me, and his body presses against mine.

“Talk to me. Tell me what’s got you so freaked.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt because of me,” I whisper against his chest, and his fingers slide back into my hair so he can cup my scalp.

“No one is going to hurt me.”

“You were shot at last night,” I say, and his muscles bunch as his fingers in my hair tighten.

“Did you get a text?” he asks quietly, and I nod, unable to speak. “Was it from Mike?” I nod again. “And he said he shot at me?”

“No.” I swallow and tip my head back to look up at him. “He said he was sorry he scared me.”

He releases the hold he has on my hair so he can cup my cheek. “He doesn’t get to win.”

“He tried to shoot you. This isn’t a game.”