I let a moment of silence stand as I considered how to answer her question without actually telling her what happened. “They can bleed badly if there's too much movement.”
“Okay.” She took a step back. “All done with that.”
She looked down at me now, but her eyes wouldn't meet mine. A pain that had nothing to do with my gunshot went through me. I ignored it. This wasn't the time or the place.
I focused on what needed to be done next. “I'll need your help getting my coat off.”
She nodded and pulled the jacket off one arm, then moved to my injured side. I gritted my teeth and braced myself, but even still, nausea washed over me as she managed to get it off without jarring me too badly. She set the jacket on the floor and turned back to me.
“Now the shirt,” I said.
She shook her head. “If you raise your arm, I'm guessing that'll start bleeding again.” One corner of her mouth twitched up. “You're not the only one who can figure stuff out.”
“What, then, do you suggest?” She turned and opened a drawer. I scowled when I saw the scissors in her hand. “You want to cut my shirt off?”
“You're either going to lose the shirt or lose more blood. And the shirt's probably ruined anyway.”
She had a point. I sighed and nodded. “All right. But be careful. I don't need any more injuries.”
She gave me a brisk nod, then cut up my sleeve and across my shoulder. I had to admit, as I watched her careful movements, I was impressed. Despite saying that she didn't know what she was doing, she didn't look like she was hesitating or freaking out. Her hands weren't even shaking, and since I could feel the cool metal gliding across my skin, that was a good thing.
When she cut the other sleeve, the fabric fell away, and I shivered. I knew I was close to going into shock. I needed to get my side taken care of, then beg for a shirt so I could try to stay warm. Sleep would be good then. I watched her face, memorized the lines and curves. After this, I doubted she'd ever want to see me again.
“Hand.”
I blinked. “Huh?”
“Move your hand, Dax.” She wrapped her fingers around my wrist. “I can't see.”
I let her move my hand away, and I could feel my fingers shaking. Blood loss, definitely. Not because of her touch.
She muttered a string of curses before she asked, “Dax, what the hell happened?”
I looked down and saw it for the first time. A nasty, ragged groove carved right underneath my ribcage. Not a hole, which was good because it meant that the bullet couldn't have been bouncing around inside me, tearing up all the shit I needed to live. It had missed bones too. Another good thing. A couple years back, one of the guys in the gang had gotten shot, and the bullet had bounced off his ribcage, breaking the bone and sending a splinter right into his heart, killing him slowly.
Or so the rumor went.
“Ouch?” I gave her a grin that I hoped looked more goofy than idiotic. I had no shame pretending that the blood loss was making me loopy if it meant she didn't press too hard.
She glared at me, and I knew she saw right through my ruse. “You're not going to tell me, are you?”
Rather than lying or flat-out refusing, I tried another tactic. “That needs to be washed too. It'll probably make it bleed more, so you might want to get an old towel or a rag or something.”
“Soap and water again?”
“And I might need you to sew it up.”
She turned faintly green but didn't argue. “Wouldn't it be better...” She paused, shook her head and then continued, “How do I know if I get to practice my non-existent sewing skills?”
“If the bleeding stops, and we can pull the edges together with a bandage, it doesn't need stitches.”
She considered that and then shrugged. “All right. This isn't going to be pleasant.”
No shit.
She was thorough, and not very gentle, and by the time she was done, I felt like I was going to throw up. For real this time. My entire body was covered with sweat, chills running through me. If she'd had to stitch me up, I wasn't sure I could keep from puking all over the place. Or passing out. Possibly both.
“Bandage, or do I get the needle and thread?” Her voice was quiet, and one look at her face said that she wasn't feeling all that steady either.
I looked down and felt a rush of relief that it wasn't as bad as I'd initially thought. Not that it was a precise scratch, but the bleeding had already slowed.
“Bandage.” As she straightened and turned toward the sink, I added, “Make sure you add some of that cream.”
“More dirt?”
I didn't answer, and she didn't ask again. Instead, she finished dressing the wound without a word. I watched as she washed her hands and walked out of the bathroom. I wanted to call after her, ask her where she was going. Ask her to come back. I would've followed her if I had the strength. As it was, I was pretty sure I was going to fall off the toilet when I finally passed out.
“Here.”
I hadn't realized I'd closed my eyes until I opened them when she spoke. She was holding a sweatshirt out to me, one big enough that I knew she'd gotten it from Gavin's room.
Normally, I would've made some snarky comment about her going through her uncle's clothes, or said how it wasn't a good idea for me to take something from my boss. At the moment, I was too far gone to do either. I reached out and took the shirt. As I got a closer look, I realized she'd given me a sweatshirt with a zipper. Much easier to get on.
I'd barely finished pulling it on when all of the exhaustion, the shock, everything that'd happened in the past couple hours, hit me. I'd heard the expression hit the wall before, and now I felt it. I wouldn’t be able to keep my eyes open much longer.
“Couch?”
She shook her head, and for a moment, I thought she was going to tell me to leave. Instead, she came around to my right side and put her arm around my waist. It wasn't until she lowered me onto her bed – the bed I'd left her in just a couple hours ago – that I realized she had blood all over her robe.
My blood.
“Sorry about that.” My words came out blunted, almost slurred. “Blood on your robe.”
She looked down as I fell back. “Don't worry about it.” Her fingertips brushed against my stomach as she zipped up the sweatshirt. “You're not going to tell me what happened, are you?”
“I can't,” I mumbled as the darkness came. I hated the pain I knew my words had caused, but I didn't have a choice. It was the only way I could protect her.
Time faded in and out. I caught glimpses of the clock, noticing the numbers change, but not really registering it. The curtains were closed so there was no sunlight, no way for me to know if it was day or night. If it was still Saturday, or if the weekend had slipped away.
Bryne seemed to float in and out. Sometimes she was real; sometimes she wasn't. She checked my temperature, her cool hands brushing over my forehead and down my cheeks. Sometimes she gave me water and pills that helped enough with the pain to make me think they were stronger than just aspirin. At one point, I was pretty sure she unzipped my shirt and changed the bandage on my side, but even then, I couldn't manage to stay awake more than a few seconds at a time.
When I finally woke for real, the clock said that it was nearly six o'clock, but I dug into my jeans pocket with fumbling fingers for something more specific. My phone told me it was still Saturday, but now evening instead of very early morning. And it also showed that I had a message from my mom. It was simple and eased the knot of anxiety that formed the moment I saw her name.
Did what you said. I'm safe. Keep yourself safe. We'll talk more when I see you.
Yeah, that wasn't going to be pleasant, but it was still in the future. I had to deal with the present.
And that meant I needed to get as far away from Bryne as possible. Not because I didn't care about her, and not because I was afraid I was caring too much. No, I needed to leave because, if I didn't, there was a good chance s
he could get hurt, and I wouldn't be able to live with myself if that happened.
So I forced myself out of the bed and down the hall. I jotted a quick note on the fridge and then headed back out into the cold January air.
Chapter Four
Bryne
I wasn't sure why I was surprised that he'd left without saying anything. It wasn't like he had a history of sticking around. If anything, he'd made leaving an art form. So I shouldn't have been surprised when I walked into my bedroom and found him gone...even though he had a gash in his side, had lost way too much blood, and I'd given him some of the heavy-duty painkillers I'd found in Gavin's medicine cabinet. And I shouldn't have been worried about the cryptic note he'd left on the refrigerator.
Stay inside. No public transportation. Don't go anywhere alone.
Bossy and mysterious.
Just like Dax.
I would have a lot to explain to my uncle when he and Carrie got back. Not the least of which was why he had a missing shirt, a couple missing pills, and why the bathroom smelled like bleach.
The big problem was that I didn't know how to even start explaining what happened. We'd had sex – amazing, toe-curling sex – and then he'd gone to do whatever he had to do. Hours later, he called, and I found him downstairs, covered in blood. He wouldn't tell me what happened, but at least he hadn't given me some far-fetched story that he expected me to believe. That meant I couldn't just repeat anything to Gavin and Carrie and blame the story on Dax. I'd either have to admit that I didn't know anything, or create my own lie. But at least he hadn't flat-out lied to me.
That didn't make it any easier to clean things up and pretend that I wasn't worried about where Dax was or what he was doing. That I wasn't terrified that the next call I got would be from someone saying that Dax was in jail, in the hospital...or worse. He meant too much to me, more than he should've, more than I wanted him too. Seeing him hurt, vulnerable, just confirmed everything I'd been feeling.
Including the feeling that he was going to break my heart.
I'd been so excited about having the place to myself while Gavin and Carrie were gone, but that was only because I wanted Dax and me to have some time to ourselves without having to worry about checking out of a hotel. Now, however, all I could do was think about what had happened, and what wouldn't be happening.
So when Todd called a couple hours after breakfast and asked if I wanted to meet him for lunch, I didn't even hesitate. Todd Emery was the first close friend I'd ever had. Someone who hadn't cared about my family's money or political connections. We'd had enough instant chemistry to be cast as the romantic leads in Collide, the off-Broadway play we were in together, but that acting chemistry had translated into a real-life platonic connection stronger than anything I'd ever experienced growing up.
So he was the one I could go to when I needed a friend.
Dax left me a note saying that I was supposed to stay inside.
Fuck that.
If he didn't have the guts to stick around and tell me the truth, then he didn't get to tell me what to do.
Still, I knew the warning was exactly that. A warning. Because it was clear that something bad had happened and things with him weren't okay. And I was smart enough to know that him coming to me might have put me in danger.
So even though I went to meet Todd at Tavern on the Green, I used Gavin's car service rather than taking a cab or the subway. And since the end of January was turning out to be just as cold as the beginning, it wasn't really like not freezing my ass off was a bad thing.
He was leaning against the wall when I walked in, looking as gorgeous as ever. I couldn't help but smile at the jealous looks shot my way when I leaned in to kiss Todd on his cheek.
“You know that hostess thinks we're dating, right?” I said as we settled in a back booth.
He gave me a wide smile, teeth gleaming and eyes sparkling. “If I was straight, you'd be all over me, and we both know it.”
I rolled my eyes and a knot in my chest eased. Something about being around Todd just made me feel better. Not for the first time, I wondered how different things would be if he wasn't gay. If he'd been the one I could have chosen to lose my virginity to. I trusted him as a friend, and I knew I could've trusted him with my heart.
“How's Hiram?” I asked as I shrugged out of my coat.
“Good.” Todd's face took on a sappy expression, and that was all it took to get him off and going.
He talked pretty much non-stop through lunch, and I was more than happy to let him do it. I liked listening to him talk, seeing the love on his face as he told me about his boyfriend and their plans. Even if I hadn't wanted to keep my mind off of Dax, I would've wanted to listen to him weave his stories.
While we were waiting for the waitress to bring back our change, he finally seemed to realize that while I was enjoying listening to him, he didn't have all of my attention.
“Okay, spill.”
I shook my head and changed the subject. “Are you doing anything after lunch?”
For a moment, I thought he'd press it, but he answered my question instead, “Nothing I can't reschedule.”
“Good.” I forced a tight smile. “Then we can rehearse.”
As the two of us walked out to the waiting car, I told myself that this wasn't just to get my mind off of things. Acting on TV or in a movie was different from live theater. There were all sorts of ways to fix mistakes. Additional takes, editing in numerous forms, sound looping. Sure, if you screwed up enough, you'd probably get fired. At the very least, you'd get a reputation as being unprepared and unprofessional. But fucking up on stage, in front of tons of people – some of whom could be critics – that could make or break an entire career. There were no do-overs.
Which meant it was a good idea to not only know a part backwards and forwards but also to force practice when things sucked. I needed to be able to perform when I felt like shit, physically and emotionally. So, I was going to drive myself to be the best. I'd become so immersed in my character and the story that nothing would be able to shake me from it. I'd not only be a great actor, I'd be a dependable one too.
“Where do you want to practice?”
Todd's tone told me that he hadn't given up on finding out what was bothering me but that he was going to let it ride for now.
“Carrie and Gavin are still on vacation,” I said. “Plenty of room and great food, without any interruptions.”
And security.
I thought it but didn't say it. If I said it, it'd mean I was following Dax's orders, and I didn't want to do that. If we couldn't even define who we were to each other, then he didn't have the right to tell me to do shit.
There might've been a little more venom in those thoughts than there needed to be, but I wasn't feeling particularly friendly at the moment. The more I thought about it, the more annoyed I got, so I tried not to think about it.
Hence the plan to rehearse with Todd.
“You want me to come back to your empty loft so we can do our homework?” Todd teased. “If I didn't know better, I'd think you were going to take advantage of me.”
I winked at him. “You've figured out my diabolical plan to rob you of your virtue in my uncle's hot tub.”
“Your uncle has a hot tub?”
As I laughed, I knew I'd made the right choice by asking Todd to spend time with me today. I wasn't sure anyone else could have made me feel better about things.
* * *
“One more time,” I said, frowning up at Todd. “I can't quite get that line right.”
“You've tried it a dozen different ways,” he groaned, rolling his eyes. “I'm not sure how else you can say it.”
“I don't either,” I admitted. I puffed out a frustrated breath and plopped down on the couch. “I guess it's more that I can't figure out exactly how Gretchen would tell Christopher that she feels like what happened will always be there, like an invisible wedge between them.”
Todd sat down next to me and stre
tched his arm out behind my shoulders. “You know your character, Bryne. Don't try to think about how to say it. Become Gretchen and just say it.”
He was right. I had to become Gretchen and let her flow through me to the audience. That was easier said than done. I knew that because I wanted to tell Dax that all of these obstacles that kept coming up between us would always be there...but I didn't know how to do it.
“What'd he do now?”
I didn't even bother trying to lie about it, just rested my head on Todd’s shoulder. “I don't know. He showed up last night, looking like he'd gotten into a fight.” All right, a little lie, but that was only so Todd didn't get too worried. “He wouldn't tell me what happened. Just wanted me to bandage him up, then he slept almost all day. Left without saying anything, just a note. Told me to stay here and not go anywhere alone.”
Todd stiffened. “He told you to stay here?”
Shit. So much for not worrying him. I shrugged to try to make light of it. “He's a bit overprotective.”
Todd raised an eyebrow. “You don't say.”
I leaned against him, accepting the comfort and support he offered. “Am I being naive? I mean, really. Do you think that I'm stupid for not walking away?”
He was quiet for a minute, and I appreciated the fact that he wasn't just blurting out the first thing that came into his head but was seriously considering my question.
“I haven't spent a lot of time with Dax,” he said finally. “But I've spent time with you, and I don't think you're that bad of a judge of character.”
I wasn't so sure I agreed with that sentiment anymore. With everything that'd been happening with Dax and me, I didn't think my judgment could exactly be trusted. Especially not when it came to him.
“I think he's trying to protect you,” Todd continued. “Maybe because he's just protective, or maybe because he's into something dangerous.”
I let Todd keep holding me, but I didn't tell him that he'd pretty much voiced my concerns exactly.