“I’m scared…” Leo sniffles as he braves a glance around the bunker. “Where are we?”
Resigned to the truth, Jaxon takes his nephew’s hand. He mutters softly to him while I slip away, giving them a moment of privacy.
Jaxon
I hadn’t realized just how much I needed to be alone with Leo. How deeply I needed to apologize for endangering his life. And yet, the little shit still wrapped his arms around my neck, rambling on about me saving him and Callie like I’m some kind of hero, even though I’m not.
But I’ll admit, I really needed that hug.
It’s quiet when I enter the med room after waiting for Leo to fall asleep.
“You didn’t lock the door,” I say, letting it close softly behind me.
Callie doesn’t flinch. Just keeps her arms crossed as she leans against the metal worktable. Her stare is distant, with eyes that are red and glassy, but not weak. Never weak.
“Would it have mattered?” she asks.
I glance at the supplies she’s laid out—gauze, antiseptic, and a pre-packaged needle and thread. All neatly arranged, like she’s trying to bring order to the chaos I’ve dragged her into.
“Yes,” I say. My boots echo on the tile as I move closer. “But also, no.”
Her shoulders stiffen, and I see the tears she’s fighting like hell to hold back before I hear the sharp inhale she tries to hide.
When I lift my hands to her cheeks and tip her face to mine, her tears spill anyway.
“Yes, because I would’ve bled out waiting for you to open it.” My thumbs swipe at the evidence of what I’ve put her through. “And no, because we’re not finished, Callie. I know you feel it, and I do, too.”
She shudders at my touch, her fight breaking under the weight of all this wreckage between us.
“I’m so mad at you,” she whispers.
“I know.” My forehead meets hers, and I breathe her in. Warm and alive. Sweet and seductive. So perfectly her. “And as much as I wish you weren’t, it’s okay that you are.”
She’s trembling, every breath a question she can’t voice. But I can be patient for her. I’ll wait as long as it takes for her to gather her thoughts and be damn grateful she’s letting me touch her at all.
“I-I don’t know what to do from here,” she says. “I don’t know what any of this means or how to feel.”
“Then we don’t figure it all out tonight.” I straighten just enough for her to see the sincerity on my face. “We start slow. You can help me with this if you want”—I motion to the makeshift tourniquet on my bicep—“and ask me whatever you need to. And this time, I promise to give you the truth.”
“Okay.” She hugs herself as she steps back, and that one tiny motion becomes a vise around my heart.
“Okay,” I echo, smiling faintly after removing my shirt and tossing it to the ground.
Her gaze roves across my chest and abdomen, noting every scar and mark. And as much as I crave those eyes on me, I’d prefer it not be while I’m covered in another man’s blood.
She follows me to the sink where I begin by unwrapping the scrap of cotton I tore off an old shirt before we left to see howdeep the gash is. Blood has soaked all the way through, clinging to the material with thick, dark clots when I pull it away.
Callie swallows hard, probably hoping I won’t notice her face going pale.
I chuckle softly, because I definitely do.
Even now, she’s trying to be brave. Still trying to be strong for me, even through her anger, and I admire the fuck out of her for it.
“New plan.” I nod to the chair beside the table. “You sit your pretty ass over there, and I’ll take care of everything.”
Her brow creases when she follows my stare, then turns back to me. “You’re going to stitch it yourself?”
“Relax, baby.” I flash a smile in the hopes of disarming her, even a little. “I could do this in my sleep.”
