Page 115 of Smith

“Stay still for me.” Cash held up a clean t-shirt.

He gently pressed the fabric to my mouth, stopped to open a bottle of water, drenched the shirt, and went back to gently wiping away my vomit.

“Sorry I puked on you.”

“No worries.”

There was commotion behind Cash. He had to have heard it before I did because he was already stepping to the side by the time I heard muffled yelling.

And that’s when I saw it.

My big, tough Smith stuttering to a stop a few yards away.

I watched him rear back, his mouth formed the word, ‘baby’ right before he fell to his knees in the driveway of the house where Billy Fucking Rice almost killed me.

There was something putrid about seeing my Smith on his knees with his head bowed.

The sight burned a hole through my heart.

“Help me down.”

“Aria—”

“Help. Me. Down. Or I swear I’ll jump.”

Covered in my puke and blood, Cash lifted me out of the back of the Escalade, wrapped his arm around my waist, and helped me hobble to Smith.

I ignored Jonas’s flinch and the way his mouth got tight.

“Please stand up, Smith.”

He moved not a muscle.

My heart sank.

“Please, Sailor. I need you.”

Smith’s head tipped back. I saw it then—not fear, not guilt, but the tears swimming in his eyes.

Cash leaned in, dipped his mouth close to my ear, and advised, “Honey you’re yelling.”

“That happens when six rounds are shot off in a small space, Cash,” I informed him of something he should know. “I can barely hear over the ringing. And I think my eardrum is bleeding on the inside.”

“Right.”

“You’re lucky you let me puke brain fragments all over the t-shirt and now I’m indebted to you for the rest of my life.”

It sounded like he mumbled, “Good to know.”

“Fuck,” Smith cursed.

And that I heard—it came from someplace deep in his chest and rumbled out of his throat in a tortured growl.

The wooziness came back in a rush. The remnants of adrenaline faded faster now that I was standing. I felt myself start to sway. Cash moved to steady me but Smith moved faster.

“I don’t know where to touch that won’t cause pain.”

I didn’t know how to answer that since everything hurt—from my scalp to my feet there wasn’t a place that didn’t ache.

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