I took another step.
“I mean it. I’m not having sex with you. You’re hurt.”
“I’m not hurt.”
Our glares locked in the same standoff we’d been having for the past two days.
At my checkup earlier this week, Talia had given me the all clear for light activity. But apparently, Eloise considered sex too strenuous.
So far, I’d let her thwart my advances. But enough was enough. My body ached and it had nothing to do with my shoulder.
With two long strides, I closed the distance between us, wrapping my good arm around her shoulders, trapping her before she could get away.
Her mouth was open, her protest ready.
I stopped it by slamming my lips on hers, sliding my tongue inside. One lick and she melted.
She sank into the kiss, fluttering her tongue against my own before her arms wrapped around my waist.
Fucking finally. I kissed her until her lips were swollen. Until she had that pretty flush to her cheeks. Then I let her go, dropping my forehead to hers.
“See? I’m okay.”
“You got shot.”
“But you didn’t.”
She sagged against me, burrowing into my chest as she drew in a long inhale.
“I miss fucking my wife.”
“I miss you too. But . . . we’ll be late.”
I growled. “We’ll be fast.” After two weeks of not having her, there was no chance I’d last.
“Tonight,” she promised. “When we get back, you can have your way with me. As long as you promise to take it easy.”
“Fine by me. You can do all the work.”
It had been two excruciating weeks, and I was desperate for sex with Eloise. I needed that physical connection. A reminder that we were good. Alive.
I dropped my forehead to hers, the image of Blaze flashing in my mind. His face was one I’d never forget. I’d been seeing him in my nightmares for two weeks. In those dreams, I hadn’t made it in time. I’d wake up, panicked. Then I’d feel her against me, sleeping soundly, cuddled close.
Maybe one of these days I’d tell Foster about the dreams. Confess them to someone. As much as Eloise had become my safe haven, this was one story I’d keep from her. She had her own demons to fight from the shooting.
“I love you,” she murmured.
“Love you too.”
It was still new, hearing it. Saying it. But every time, those words sank a little deeper. Lingered a little longer. By the time we were old and gray, they’d be tattooed on my bones.
We stood together in the middle of the loft, holding tight for a few moments. Then she eased away. “We’d better go.”
“All right.” I kissed her hair, then followed her downstairs.
Eloise snagged her keys and the veggie tray we’d made earlier from the kitchen, then we headed outside, climbing in her car.
In the past two weeks, she hadn’t been out of my sight for more than minutes at a time. Otherwise, we’d been inseparable.
And since she wanted to go to dinner at the ranch tonight, I was riding shotgun. Not that I minded.
Over the past two weeks, the Edens had closed ranks.
Talia had required I stay at the hospital for a few days after the shooting, giving my wound a jumpstart on healing and to monitor it for any sign of infection. Eloise had stayed the entire time, setting up camp in my room. Her parents had been the ones to bring us clean clothes, food and whatever else we’d needed.
Since we’d come home to the A-frame, Anne had visited every day. She’d assigned herself chores, laundry, cleaning and cooking. Eloise had insisted her mom hadn’t needed to help, but Anne hadn’t listened. Personally, I was grateful for the cooking. No way Eloise would have let me in the kitchen and I’d never liked peanut butter and jelly.
Harrison had tagged along with Anne yesterday, bringing along enough split firewood to last us five years. Then he’d stacked it outside by the shop.
Eloise’s siblings had, well . . . bombarded us.
I’d thought their steady stream of visits would stop once we left the hospital. If anything, it had gotten worse.
Today was the first time we hadn’t had a guest. And that was just because we were all congregating at the ranch.
Knox and Lyla had brought us enough food to last a month. Talia and Foster came at least twice a day. Griffin stopped by each morning and Winn swung over each evening. Mateo had been our least frequent visitor, but that was because he’d taken over at the hotel. Instead of stopping by, he called Eloise every two hours, asking questions and keeping her involved.
We hadn’t been to the hotel since the shooting.
That would come. Later.
Eloise wasn’t ready. Neither was I.
For now, it was in good hands and when Eloise was ready to return, I’d be right by her side.
If she decided to return.
There was a chance that Blaze had stolen her happiness from that building. He’d fired off three shots that day. Two had missed wide. The third had gone through my shoulder.
The fourth and fifth shots I’d heard had been Winn. She’d shot Blaze straight through the heart.
Not a day would go by that I wasn’t grateful for Winslow Eden. She’d saved lives. She’d saved Eloise. Had she not been there, well . . . there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that Blaze had come with the intention to murder.
The week after the shooting, Winn had come over to tell us about what had happened that day. The whole story.
The investigation was technically ongoing, but Winn had shared it was only documentation at this point. They’d searched Blaze’s computer to find some hidden video accounts. He’d recorded himself killing animals. His neighbor’s puppy. His own cat.
Winn had told us there’d been countless videos on his phone with rants about how he hated his mother. How he blamed her for divorcing his father. How his father should have hit her harder.
None of us had realized that Lydia had been abused by her ex. But I suspected that abuse had also translated to Blaze. Maybe physically. Definitely mentally and emotionally.
Combined with that at home, he’d been bullied at his old school in Missoula. In other videos, he’d made lists of people he’d be killing one day. He’d talked about how he’d take guns into the school. Which kids he’d shoot first.
Then there’d been the videos from Quincy. There was one of the A-frame dated the day before the shooting. Another of Eloise and me in the hotel lobby. Three of Eloise walking into work and one of me taking her a coffee. I hadn’t needed to see them. Just the mention had made my blood run cold.
No one would ever know exactly what had transpired, but that day two weeks ago, Blaze had killed his mother. They’d found Lydia in her kitchen, shot in the back of the head. From there, it was assumed that Blaze had come to the hotel.
I shuddered, knowing just how close I’d been to losing Eloise.
“Hey.” She reached her hand across the console.
I took it, lacing our fingers together. “Hey.”