Page 11 of Where We Bloom (The Blackwells of Montana #3)

Chapter Five

BILLIE

S omeone shoved a huge wad of cotton in my mouth. My head feels like it’s split open and my brains are spilling out. Every joint in my body aches.

I’m pretty sure I’m in Connor’s bed. I remember waking up at some point and seeing him. I felt him. I smelled him. Did I ask? I think so. Honestly, I don’t remember much, and trying to think about it only makes my head hurt more.

I moan and roll onto my back, but I don’t open my eyes because that’s going to hurt.

“Are you awake?” It’s whispered above me, but it still sounds like he’s screaming.

“Shh,” I reply. “Too loud.”

He chuckles softly. I wish he was lying down so I could curl around him, but he’s not. I can tell he’s sitting up, his back against the headboard. I do have vague memories of his arms around me. Cuddling me against him.

It felt too fucking good, and it just puts me in a bad mood.

Or helps the bad mood that I already have.

“I need you to drink this.”

I sit up enough to sip some cool water, then fall back to the pillow. Why is his bed more comfortable than my own bed?

Wait. I’m in Connor’s bed.

A whole slew of questions bombard my bruised brain.

What does his house look like?

Did we have sex, and I forgot?

Did he pick me up at the bar?

“Did we—” It’s a whispered question. He brushes a piece of hair off my face.

“No.” That’s not whispered, and it echoes through my skull, making me cringe. “What do you remember, bumble?”

“Quiet,” I reply and try to blink my eyes open. There’s light from outside, but it’s muted by pretty curtains. Beige, I think. The bed is the size of Rhode Island, the linens are soft and luxurious, and I want to burrow down in them.

So I don’t. I fling the covers off, and let the cool air drift over me, waking me up more.

“I don’t remember much.” My voice sounds like sandpaper. “The girls. Drinks. Alex going home with my cousin and his boyfriend. ”

Connor’s fingers drift through my hair, and I close my eyes. That actually feels good.

So I should tell him to stop.

But I don’t want to. Why do I love it so much when he touches me?

“How did I get here ?”

“I went to the bar to have a drink,” he says. God, he can just play with my hair like that for the rest of my life, and it won’t be long enough. “Saw you there. Some arsehole spiked your drink.”

I frown, but I don’t open my eyes again. When he removes his hand from my hair, I want to pull him back, already feeling the loss of his touch.

“I don’t remember an asshole. Wait, the asshole after the jukebox? The one I almost punched out?”

“No, this was after the girls left, and you sat at the bar.”

I slowly move my head side to side. “I don’t recall that part.”

“That’s not surprising. He pulled you out of the bar and had you up against a truck by the time I got out to you.”

I open one eye and squint up at him. “And you saved me?”

“I stopped something bad from happening to you, aye.”

I blow out a shaky breath as the magnitude of that situation hits me. Fuck, I was almost raped ?

The back of my nose starts to tingle as tears fill my eyes, and then Connor is lying next to me, pulling me against him, and God, it feels so good .

“Shh, nothing happened, Billie. I promise.”

“I’m so hungover,” I mutter against his chest. I want to melt into him. I want to enjoy this feeling of safety.

But I can’t because it’s not real.

“And I’m so fucking pissed off.”

“You should be angry.” His voice is grim. “Chase Wild will want to talk to you when you feel up to it. And Blake’s been calling throughout the day to check on you.”

“Blake knows?”

“I had to call a doctor,” Connor says. “And he’s your brother.”

I groan, and roll out of his arms, and cover my face with my hands. “That means my whole family knows.”

With a cringe, I sit up and the room spins a bit. I don’t feel drunk anymore, but I’m super woozy, and everything hurts.

And I’m so fucking grumpy.

“Can I get you food? You should drink more water.”

“I want to go home, Connor.”

He’s quiet for a heartbeat. His hand is on my back, and I have to take a deep breath so I don’t launch myself back in his arms and beg him to simply hold me.

This feels too good.

And I don’t trust it.

“I don’t love the idea of you being alone, angel.”

“I’ll be fine.” I move to the side of the bed and let my feet dangle, but I don’ t stand yet.

I’m not convinced I won’t fall on my face, and that would be humiliating.

“We can move downstairs,” he suggests softly, as if he’s hoping I’ll stay with him. “Watch a movie and eat something while you get your strength back.”

“Connor.” I clear my throat, and he doesn’t say anything, just listens.

“I appreciate your help more than you know. I hate to think—well, I won’t even say it out loud.

Thank you for everything. I mean that. And I really, really”— my voice hitches — “don’t want to be a bitch to you because you’ve been so nice to me, but I’m in a super pissy mood right now, and I don’t feel good.

I need to go home. Please, take me home. Or have Miller drive me.”

He's quiet for a minute, then he lets out a gusty breath. I feel him stand from the bed and hear him pad around to me, where he squats and cups my cheek, making me look him in the face.

“Promise me you’ll call one of your brothers or Dani, or Skyla, to come be with you.”

I want to tell him to piss off but remind myself that he saved my ass last night.

Maybe my life.

So I take a deep breath.

“I will. Blake will probably want to come check me out.”

He searches my eyes for a minute and nods. “Okay. You wear that shirt home. I’ll get you some shorts. Don’t move. ”

He kisses my forehead as he stands, then he’s gone. When he returns, he’s put on jeans and a T-shirt.

Connor’s usually in dressier clothes, and every time I see him dressed casually, it makes my loins stand up and applaud.

Even when I feel like I’m half dead.

“Here.” He holds the black workout shorts out for me to step into. With my hands braced on his shoulders, I stand, and he works them up over my hips.

I’m standing here in his T-shirt, his shorts, and my thong from last night.

“Where’s my dress?”

“I have it,” he replies. “I’d like you to drink the rest of this bottle of water before we go.”

“I’ll take it with me.”

He starts to argue as he stands, and I take his hand in mine, holding on tight, silently begging him to understand.

“I need to go home.” It’s a whispered plea. “Please, Connor.”

His jaw tightens. “Then I’ll take you home, angel.”

He honestly needs to stop being nice because I really just want to cry. And that’s not helping.

Connor doesn’t release my hand as we walk slowly through the house. I get glimpses of wood beams and gleaming floors. Beautiful furniture. A stunning kitchen.

When we get to the front door, he helps me into my shoes from last night and leads me out to his SUV.

“These heels go with the shorts so well,” I mutter and glance over to see Connor’s half smile .

“My shoes are too big for you,” he says. “But I’ll get you some if you want them.”

“No. I’m just going home anyway.”

I lean my head back and close my eyes as he takes off down the driveway. I can tell he’s going slow, taking the turns carefully. I want to look in the side mirror to see what his house looks like, but I just don’t have the energy.

It doesn’t matter.

I’ll never be back here again anyway.

I feel him ease onto what I assume is the highway because he picks up speed, and I look around to see where we are. It’s not too far from my family’s ranch, actually.

I don’t know why that surprises me.

But I don’t say anything.

“Are you all right, then, beautiful girl?” he asks.

Connor’s Irish accent has always done things to me. It makes my stomach clench and my core tingle.

It’s sexy as hell.

But add in the compliments, the sweet touches, the light brushes of his lips? I can hardly resist him.

Damn him.

“I will be,” I mutter and cover my eyes, blocking out the sunlight. “Once I find all of the pieces of my skull and put them back together again.”

Before long, he pulls into my driveway.

“Wait for me.” He turns off the engine, then pushes out of the vehicle and hurries around to my side, where he opens the door and helps me to my feet. “ I’m walking you in. You can argue, but it’s still happening.”

I’m wobbly enough in these stupid heels that I don’t protest.

I let him lead me to the door, and I unlock it, and we step inside. It’s already late afternoon on Sunday, and I feel my shoulders fall in disappointment.

“What’s wrong?” he asks with a concerned scowl.

“I lost my whole day off,” I reply as I kick out of the heels and rub my hands over my face. I don’t even want to think about what last night’s makeup must look like right now. “I have to get ready for work tomorrow already, and I missed family time at the ranch.”

“I’m sure the family understands,” he says. “What can I do to help?”

Damn him for being so nice to me right now.

“You’ve helped plenty,” I remind him. “And I’m about to turn into a pumpkin. Don’t worry, I’ll call Blake. You can go.”

He shoves his hands in his jeans pockets and frowns at me. Dammit, he looks too good standing in my house. Like he could just help me in the kitchen or sit with me in my library even though said library is tiny, and I don’t need to imagine this man hanging out with me at home.

“Connor.” It’s a whisper, and finally, he nods.

“Let me know if you need anything,” he says as he turns away. “I’ll come to you anytime, or I’ll send whatever you need over. I mean it.”

I don’t know why, but that makes me scoff. “I don’t have your number.”

“Yes, you do,” he says over his shoulder. “It’s in your phone. Get some rest, bumble.”

And with that, he leaves me standing here, and I’m a fucking mess.

But this is what I asked him for. I asked him to bring me home and leave me alone, but now I want him here with me.

I’m pissing myself off. Get it together, Billie.

First, I call Blake.

“Tell me how you’re feeling,” he says in greeting.

“Like hammered shit.”