“You flinched away from me.” He sounds so hurt. As hurt as he looked. “And it’s okay, Baby. I don’t blame you for being afraid of me.”
I pause, trying to think what the hell he’s talking about.
He can’t mean…
“Good to bed, Savannah.”
My mouth opens to reply, to tell him he’s a fucking idiot, but loud music vibrates through the door.
“Fucking idiot.” I say it anyway.
It all makes sense now.
It’s stupid. But it all suddenly makes perfect sense.
I was too out of it when I woke up in the hospital to remember, but I had a week alone in my bedroom to relive every moment of that night. The good and the bad.
And I remember waking up on the floor, hearing growls and flesh hitting flesh. And I was terrified that something might have happened to King. So I rolled over. But as soon as I did, my wrist started throbbing. The pain was unbelievable. So much worse than anything else on my body, and it was all I could focus on.
Until King was there, right there and reaching for me. Reaching for my broken arm.
And I did flinch.
But not because I was scared of him.
Because I was hurt. And I knew if he grabbed my hand and I screamed out in pain, he’d freak out.
I let my forehead thud against the wood again. “Stupid fucking idiot,” I whisper it this time.
He’s in there tearing himself apart over something that’s not even true.
I push away from the door.
Good thing I’m not as fragile as he thinks I am.
The phone rings twice before it’s answered.
“Hello, Savannah.”
“Nero.” I take a breath. “I need a favor.”
The chuckle he lets out is less terrifying than I remember. “I thought you’d never ask.”
