Branded (Ignite #2)

Guilt rushes through me when he mentions his family. Even though we dated what seems like eons ago, I still saw him from time to time when I was with Finnley since he was related to her husband. I didn’t go to Jordan’s funeral out of respect for Finnley. That bastard didn’t deserve any type of mourning, but I should have gone for Jackson and the rest of his family. They were good people and, even though one of their own tried to kill my best friend and her now-fiancé, he was still a part of their family. You don’t go to funerals for the ones who died, you go to support the ones left behind.

“I’m so sorry about Jordan,” I tell him softly, even though I don’t really mean it. Jordan is where he belongs. My sympathy is solely for Jackson and his grief.

He shrugs again and gives me a sad smile. “I should be the one apologizing. He was like a brother to me, but I had no idea how fucked up he was.”

Jackson reaches behind him and grabs Andreonna’s hand. “Well, I should probably get this little munchkin over to the face painting booth before I have to go back to work.”

I finally stop staring at his handsome face long enough to realize he’s in uniform. I completely forgot that he works for the local police department.

“Finnley told me you took some time off after the funeral. It’s good to see that you’re back at work.”

“Well, not back completely. There are still a few loose ends to tie up with the family, but I volunteered to work security today and tonight at Fight Night up at the firehouse. Are you going?”

Honestly, I hadn’t planned on going to see a bunch of Neanderthals beat the snot out of each other, but there’s something about the hopeful look on Jackson’s face that makes me want to change my mind. I know that no matter how grown up he is now or how good looking he is in his police uniform, he’s still off-limits for me, but I wouldn’t mind hanging out with him and it couldn’t hurt to have another police officer on my side if and when things start to escalate with my father.

“I’m not sure yet. Boxing isn’t really my thing,” I tell him.

“There will be sweaty men with their shirts off all night. What woman wouldn’t jump at the chance to see something like that?” he asks with a laugh.

I laugh along with him and for just a moment, I feel normal. Like a woman who can stand in the middle of a park surrounded by happy families and joke with a sweet man. I need more normal in my damn life. It doesn’t matter that I’m purposefully blocking out the kiss of another man or the feel of his hands on my body. It doesn’t matter that when I get home later, my life will still be the same ball of shit it always has been or that I spend all day waiting for the man from my nightmares to show up and make good on his threats about giving me what I deserve.

With another wave to Andreonna and a promise to Jackson that I’ll try and make it to Fight Night, I walk the rest of the way to the platelet donation truck with a smile on my face. I keep the smile firmly in place when I see the ambulance parked in front of the truck and I even go so far as to smile even wider when I see the very unhappy face of the man who kissed me as he leans against the side of the vehicle with his arms crossed in front of him. DJ’s narrowed eyes follow me the entire way as I open the door to the truck and walk up the steps inside. I can see his glare through the front windshield of the truck and curse myself for the stupid goose bumps that pebble my skin from just the force of his stare.

I’m like a fucking teenager all over again, giddy with the thought that I just made him jealous by talking to another man. Rubbing my hands up and down my arms angrily to get rid of the goose bumps, I don a fake smile for the nurse as she gets me situated on a portable bed and begins the process of hooking up my IV line for the platelet donation.

A gentle pat on my arm jerks me awake.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” the nurse says with a kind smile. “You’re all finished. I’m guessing I don’t need to tell you to take it easy and grab some juice and cookies on your way out.”

She points to my pale blue scrubs with my hospital ID pinned to it.

“Yeah, I’m pretty familiar with the do’s and don’ts,” I tell her with an embarrassed laugh. “Sorry I fell asleep there.”

She helps me up from the bed and I sway a little, grabbing onto her arm for support.

“Whoa! Maybe I do need to go over the platelet donation checklist with you,” she says in a concerned voice.

I shake the cobwebs from my head and extract myself from her grip on my arms. “No, it’s fine. I’ll make sure to grab as many cookies as I can.”

She watches me like a hawk as I walk down the steps of the truck, going so far as to follow me to the bottom step and make sure I go right over to the table of refreshments. I ignore the pounding in my head and the tingling in my hands and arms as I smile and wave at her over my shoulder.

I’ve always felt a little bit woozy after a platelet donation. It’s a little tougher on your body than just giving blood since a small portion of blood is drawn from your arm and is then filtered through a cell-separating machine to take out the platelets. After the platelets are removed, your blood is filtered back into you with a little bit of saline. The whole process takes about an hour and when I’ve donated in the past, the lightheadedness is gone after a few minutes and I can be on my way. As I brace my hands on top of the refreshment table and squeeze my eyes closed as I start to see black spots, something tells me it’s going to take a little bit longer than normal for the wooziness to pass this time. I made sure to eat a huge breakfast before I left the house today since I knew I’d be donating, hoping the extra sugar and carbs would help afterwards, but something isn’t right.