“Don’t stay up too late,” I insisted. “And if you need me, just call or come back to the room. I’ll be here.”
“Okay,” Wyatt answered as he ran over to me, giving me a quick hug before he headed for the door. I smiled when I heard their laughter bouncing down the hall as they both raced to Dusty’s room. It did my heart good to see him so happy, and I truly hoped that Wyatt and Dusty would become good friends. But my smile slowly began to fade when I looked down at the rips and tears on my blood stained clothes. I was a mess and in a desperate need for a hot shower. I went over to the large dresser to hunt for some clean clothes and was surprised to see that everything that I’d packed from home was neatly tucked away inside. I checked each drawer looking for something comfortable to wear, but nothing really called out to me. When I finally opened the last drawer, Griffin’s jeans and shirts laid there staring back at me. I couldn’t resist. I liked the thought of wearing something of his, so I quickly grabbed one of the soft cotton t-shirts and headed to the bathroom.
After removing my dirty clothes and bandages, I stepped into the hot shower. The cuts on my wrists and hands began to sting as the water flowed down my body, but I didn’t move. I needed to feel the burn, using it to pull me from the haze that I’d fallen into since I found myself locked away in that damn trunk. Everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours had become a blur in my mind. Every face, every word, and every action were meshing together into one horrific moment that I desperately wanted to forget. I just wanted to be back in Griffin’s bed, curled up next to him with my head on his chest, listening to the rhythm of his heart beat. Damn, I missed him. I missed the sound of his voice and the touch of his skin against mine. I just wanted him to come back.
When I stepped out of the shower, my muscles felt looser, almost back to normal as I walked over to the mirror above the sink. I took my towel and wiped the fog from the glass, and once it was clear, I was shocked by what I saw. Dark bruises were scattered across my side, looking worse than I had imagined, but thankfully, my ribs weren’t hurting like they were a few hours ago. I quickly replaced my bandages and put on Griffin’s t-shirt. I was exhausted, so I curled up in the bed, pulling the covers over me. I thought I was feeling better, until the moment I closed my eyes and saw Griffin’s face.
I was scared. I tried to convince myself that he was going to be fine, that as the enforcer, he’d been in situations like this before, but it didn’t make me feel any better. Until I laid my eyes on him, nothing was going to take away my worry. To some extent, his life would always be filled with danger, and I would have to learn to accept that, learn to live with the worry. I may never know why he’d chosen to do the things he’d done, but the fact remained that he knew. He knew that precious lives were at stake, Wyatt’s, mine, and his brothers, and I had no doubt that he would do whatever it took to keep us all safe.
I’d been laying there, staring at the ceiling for almost an hour when he stepped into the room. He was quiet, and I could feel the tension rolling off of him as he closed the door behind him. Without turning on the lights, he came over and sat on the edge of bed next to me, and even in the dark, I could see that something was weighing on his mind. He let out a deep breath as he leaned over, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared down at the floor.
“Hey,” I whispered, but he didn’t turn back to look at me. I sat up and reached for the lamp beside the bed. When the light revealed his blood soaked clothing, I shouted, “Griffin! Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Wren. Nothing for you to worry about,” he said with his eyes still glued to the floor.
“You’re bleeding,” I cried as I got out of the bed and knelt down in front of him, reaching out for the hem of his shirt. His eyes locked on mine as I pulled it over his head and tossed it on the floor. I winced when I spotted the bullet wound on his arm. “This isn’t nothing, Griffin. You’ve been shot!”
“I’m fine,” he grumbled. “Just a graze.”
I reached down and he didn’t resist when I pulled off his boots. I rested them down on the floor, then took his hand and led him into the bathroom. After turning on the shower, I walked back over to him and silently reached for the buckle of his jeans. When they dropped to the floor, he stood there frozen, watching me intently as he waited to see what I was going to do next. I eased my t-shirt over my head and laid it across the sink. His eyes quickly dropped to the bruises on my side, and his face grew pale.
“Fuck,” he growled.
“Don’t,” I scolded. “It looks worse than it really is.” I took his hand and led him into the shower. He stood there silent as the warm water cascaded down his broad shoulders, easing some of the tension that settled in his muscles.