“And I would have just beat the shit out of him sooner,” Killian says, pressing his face into the crook of my neck. “Baby doll, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay.” But my eyes tear up. I’ve never been physically attacked before. I took self-defense courses during college because it seemed the safe thing to do. But reality is different, and not so easy to let go.
Scottie sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Nothing is ‘okay.’” He pins me with an icy stare. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Then get some rest.” He turns his attention to Killian. “You. I want those fingers in the splint the doctor left. Don’t give me shit, or so help me…” He holds up a hand and appears to be doing a mental countdown.
“I’ll splint the damn fingers,” Killian says, exasperated. He already has them wrapped in ice. I’m afraid to look. His whole hand was swollen, the knuckles split and bleeding, before they treated it.
Finally Scottie blows out a breath. “We need to fix this.”
“It won’t be easy,” Brenna says somberly. “The entire fight was filmed from multiple angles and is already being played on numerous outlets.”
“Fuck,” sneers Jax. He doesn’t look at me, though I feel the weight of his disappointment in the air.
It doesn’t matter that we’re here because a self-centered prick thought it was okay to put his hands on me, or that I defended myself the best way I could. Guilt still rides me. I’m the one who was involved. Everyone here knows Killian wouldn’t have lost his shit if it hadn’t been in my honor.
I can’t bring myself to look at anyone.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Libby
Late at night, when we finally slip into bed, Killian holds me for a long time, his chest to my back. I drift in the warmth of him, body and soul at peace. And he breathes me in, slow and deep as if he’s memorizing my scent.
“I could have killed him,” he whispers in my hair.
In the dark, my hand finds his forearm, pressed across my chest, and I stroke his skin, tracing the muscles beneath it. “But you didn’t.”
His breath is soft and low. “I totally lost my shit. Didn’t think of anything but beating his ass.”
“It’s over now.” Under the cool of the covers, with his heat along my skin, I’m safe. And though Killian is more than capable of protecting himself, I wish he felt safe as well.
His fingers curl around the curve of my shoulder. “I’ve never been needed by anyone but the guys. We became each other’s family. I watch out for them.”
I don’t say anything, simply run my fingers over the strong bones of his wrist, along his inner arm where his skin is like silk over stone.
“I failed them, Libs. I should have known Jax was losing his grip.”
“Killian—”
“I should have kept us together after he tried to end it instead of drifting away.”
The covers rustle as I turn to face him. “Almost every night for a year, I went to bed thinking I should have tried to get my dad into rehab. I should have said something instead of looking the other way.” I cup Killian’s cheek, rough with the day’s growth. “Half the time I couldn’t look in the mirror because I thought, would my dad have been happier, would he have drank less, if he’d never given up the life to have me?”
Killian’s eyes widen as if he’s in pain. “No, Libby. No one who knows you would ever consider you a regret.”
I sigh, my thumb touching the corner of his mouth. “That’s the problem, though. Logic tells you one thing, but you still feel another. You can tell me I’m wrong about my dad. I can tell you you’re wrong about failing the guys. But believing is harder, isn’t it?”
His lips press against my brow. “I don’t want to fail you, Libs. And right now, I don’t know how avoid doing that.”
“I feel the same,” I whisper.
He moves over me then, settling his body on mine. There, in the dark, he makes love to me. It’s almost desperate, the way we touch—searching kisses, fumbling caresses. And it’s heartbreakingly tender. Every touch counts, feels like the end of something, the beginning of something else.
I’m terrified, and I don’t know why. Maybe he is too, because he doesn’t let me go. Not when we reach our climax, and not when we drift off to sleep in the waning hours of the night.
In the morning, I’m alone. Killian has gone to get his hand X-rayed just in case there are fractures.
I eat breakfast in my room and don’t expect visitors. When Jax shows up, I’m wary. He barely looked my way last night, as if he couldn’t stand the sight of me.
“You want some coffee?” I ask as he follows me into the suite’s living room where the room service cart is set up.