“If you don’t stop treating me like a damn child, I’m going to lose it. I mean it, Beck. I want to go home. I want to sleep in my own bed.” He laughs, actually laughs in my face before turning back to the stove and flipping the pancake he’s working on.
Oh, the infuriating man. And damn him for making pancakes worthy of me kissing his feet.
It’s been two weeks. Two damn weeks since I’ve been released from the hospital, and he hasn’t left my side once. He’s becoming Betty freaking Crocker and Suzie Homemaker all rolled into one, too good looking for his own good man. He cooks my meals, does my laundry, and I bet if I asked, he’d wipe my ass for me.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m thankful for the assistance, but I haven’t left the house once since we’ve been back. The first week, I don’t think I could’ve left if I’d wanted to. My ribs screamed in pain whenever I moved, and my face would’ve given small children nightmares. I still look like I fought a semi and lost, but at least the bruises aren’t as ugly and vibrant as before, and the swelling has gone down enough that I look somewhat normal.
Now, I just want out. I want to go to my own house, sleep in my own bed, and put some space between us. Oh, who am I kidding? The main reason I want out is because he’s making me feel things that scare the shit out of me . . . making me believe that whatever I’ve been avoiding this whole time is possible.
He’s making me want everything he’s laying down at my feet. He’s making me crave everything that I’ve been running from.
And he’s got me so turned on that all he would need to do is say ‘come,’ and I’m pretty sure my body would detonate like a perfectly crafted bomb.
Yeah, I have to get out of here.
He sets the spatula down on the counter and turns to look me in the eyes. “We’ve been over this before. It’s not safe for you to go home until we can finish the investigation, find out who attacked you, and get to the bottom of all this crap you’ve been dealing with, in secret I might add, at work. So, no . . . you aren’t going anywhere because right here with me is the safest place for you to be.” He gives me his trademark smirk and turns back to his flipping.
“I’ll be fine! My apartment is secure. I won’t even leave. I can work from home just as well as I’ve been working from your house.”
“No.”
“No? That’s it?” I’m fuming. I know I’m acting like a brat, but I’m terrified. Those walls, that mask, all the protective measures that I’ve perfected over the years disappeared that last day in the hospital. I can’t get his words out of my head.
“Yeah, Dee, that’s pretty much it. I know what you’re trying to do. You’re running, or I should say, you’re trying to run. Well, guess what, Babe? You aren’t going anywhere. I finally, fucking finally, got back in, and I’ll be damned if I let you push me away again.” He dishes out the pancakes and brings the plate over to me, turning back to grab some orange juice from the fridge and the syrup from the counter before joining me at the table. I stare at him with my jaw hanging open as he starts shoveling food in his mouth.
“I’m not running,” I whisper.
He puts his fork down, wipes his mouth, and looks at me. His eyes are soft and caring. “You’re right. You aren’t running. You’re trying to build that fortress back up around you. You’re trying to hide. I’ve watched you since we’ve been back. The old Dee, the one that’s been hiding behind fake smiles and laughter, that’s what I expected to deal with when we got home. I was so worried about you after Brandon’s attack. There were times when I really thought you would be dead when I came to check on you.” He pauses and looks away for a second. With every word he speaks, my heart starts to pound harder in my chest. “You’ve come so far, Baby, and you’ve gone through hell. But the difference is now you aren’t hiding anymore. MY wildcat is back, and I’ll be goddamned if I let her go again.”
He gives me a guarded smile, picks up his fork, and starts eating again, as if he hasn’t just dropped this . . . this emotional bomb in my lap. I don’t even know what to say. He’s right, and dammit, I don’t even think I want him to let me go anymore.
“I’m so confused,” I confess.
“I know. That’s why we will figure this out together. I’m right here. All you have to do is reach out and take my hand. One step at a time.”