Page 6

CHAPTER 6

REDLEY

He stands beside me, so tall my neck cranes to see him. Even with the way he filled my bed, I never could have imagined his height. Brown hair hangs to his jaw, and though his features appear hazy from getting hit in the head, that line is strong and handsome. His fingers dig into my flesh as he grips my upper arm and pulls me into my own space like he owns it.

The oil lamp still burns, and I’m amazed Granny didn’t come in here herself to put it out. She must have been half or more drunk. She has a real taste for the moonshine, which isn’t unusual in our family. She hits harder when she’s drunk too.

His ferocious yellow eyes rove over my face. Murderous anger emanates from him, and the only thing that makes sense flies out of my mouth. “I’m really sorry. I dropped your water.”

“Shut up,” he grits. His muscles bunch and tense all over. It must hurt him to stand with whatever happened earlier, but here he is.

I do as he says, and his hands shake even harder as he squeezes me tighter. What is there to say? If Granny hears me, I think she might actually murder me this time. I don’t know if he’s going to hit me too or maybe rape me, but experience has taught me there isn’t a gentle hand in the world. Granny has explained often enough what sex is and why I need to avoid it at all costs. She’s also told me that certain men don’t care if they take it. They don’t care if they steal the only thing a girl has. Right now, I’m too confused and afraid to understand his actions.

Tears start to form on my lashes, and harsh breaths pull through my lungs as I panic. Maybe I’m the problem thinking about sex right now, but I’m not thinking clearly. I’ve never been so close to a man and so vulnerable at the same time. What if he’s here to hurt me too? His rough hands are hurting me, but they don’t feel so bad compared to the other treatment I’ve endured tonight.

The room is so tiny he easily reaches over and grabs the lamp by the metal ring without stepping away from me. He’s so large I think if he stretched out fully he wouldn’t fit across the floor.

“This looks painful,” he says, lifting the lamp to my injuries.

“I’ll be fine,” I say, fear and tears choking me.

The proximity of the fire makes me tremble. I’ve only been burned as a punishment once, but it was a miserable experience I’d rather not relive. His sharp eyes chastise me, and I don’t know what he’ll do now that I’ve failed him too. I’ve come to associate failure and pain. He touches my chin as he turns my head, checking both sides of my face. My vision is starting to obscure on the one side as my eye swells shut.

“It’s going to scar.”

“No one cares about that,” I tell him. I’m not looking for sympathy, just speaking my truth as I know it. Granny won’t regret her actions, and I’ll have to live with my face all the same.

“Maybe I do.”

“Now why would a stranger care about something stupid like marks left in my skin?” I shoot back.

There’s nothing but serious consideration in his gaze as he leads me back to the chair I was sitting in. I stand there stupidly until he pushes my shoulders down, and then I sit while he places the lamp on the window ledge. He sits on the end of my bed and pulls the chair between his knees so he’s practically wrapped around me, then begins plucking out the shards with his bare fingers. I wince but manage not to make a sound as I let him work.

“Does that hurt?” he asks.

I shake my head as tears leak across the wounds. Some twisted part of me wonders if the glass is cutting him as he removes it, if we’re sharing blood. I hope we’re not. Letting myself be this vulnerable with him scares me as it is. I shake in his arms, and a part of me wants to scream for him to stop. This is too much, too raw. How will I ever survive someone treating me so gently when it will never happen again?

I keep quiet because the larger issue than my own feelings is that my head is too unsteady to remove the glass myself. I can’t fall asleep with it stuck in my skin or it may never come out, so I let him forge this tie with me. I’m halfway in love with him, and I remind myself it’s just the forming concussion.

He drops each shard on the floor. That will be for me to clean up later, I’m sure, just like the glass outside, but I’m thankful it’s not in my skin. A further whimper or two get free as he cleans me up, and I resent the hell out of them, but damn does this hurt. I need to lie down before I fall. His body around me is the only thing holding me up.

When he finishes, he gathers me into his arms and slides us both up and into the bed. He’s so warm, and I can’t help but cuddle into him. This softness is the same reason I let Bobby kiss me. I needed to be close to someone for once, but kissing him didn’t feel like this. I’m suddenly sure I’d let this person do a whole lot more.

From his bag, he pulls out a smaller machine than I expected. They’re usually made for sitting on desks, I think, but it must have a battery. How strange. He slides the Elvis cassette inside and presses a button.

“Hound Dog” fills the room at a gentle volume, and I’m afraid Granny will hear and get angry, but I’m too tired to pick my head up, let alone speak.

He gently pushes me off him and climbs out of the bed. One last look down at me, and he says, “Rest.”

I close my eyes because the one is already swelling its way fully shut, and the other is bone-tired from the pain and the head injury. At least he’s doing what I need of him and leaving. He helped me, and he’s getting out of here. What more can I ask of him?

I might have a concussion, and according to Doc, I’m not supposed to sleep with one, but I don’t have any chance of fighting it. As Elvis sings softly to me and the oil lamp goes out, I fall into a deeper sleep than I’ve ever experienced.

The Wolf never caught a rabbit, and he ain’t no friend of mine.