Page 62 of Blackout

Chapter Twenty-one

Lacey

Celeste sold herself short. Not just by doubting her ability to remove the bullet but by choosing to be a nurse instead of a doctor. She may have been nervous, and her hands may have shaken more than a skilled surgeon’s, but she managed to get all the fragments of the bullet and closed Blackie up expertly. There was no way of telling if there was any damage to his muscle without the proper medical equipment, so she insisted we make it a priority that he sees a doctor once the smoke clears on the latest disaster, but for the most part, he was okay. He was in and out of consciousness and in a lot of pain, but he was alive.

After helping get Blackie situated in the bedroom, Cobra took Celeste home. Stryker and Linc came bearing more alcohol and a prescription bottle of painkillers that Linc had left over from his recovery. Once I was armed with all the toxins Blackie was trying to rid himself of, my father announced it was time for them to roll out. They tied pink bandanas to their heads in support of Wolf’s main squeeze, Maria, who was undergoing a mastectomy and vowed to be in touch.

I still didn’t know what had happened; who shot Blackie and why we were hiding out from the cops was all a mystery. I also had no idea how long we’d be out on the lam and none of it mattered because we were together.

We were right where we belonged.

So, when the leather cleared out, and it was just him and I, I crawled into bed next to him and watched him sleep. I made sure he didn’t turn onto his injured shoulder and when he groaned in pain; I placed my hand in his and lulled him back to sleep.

It was noon when I tore myself out of the bed and made my way into the kitchen. There was a horrible stench of bleach in the cabin and I opened all the windows hoping to clear it out. The cold air filtered through the cabin and I grabbed another blanket from the couch. I was about to drape it over Blackie when I spotted the burner phone my dad left behind.

Still clutching the blanket, I grab the phone and make my way back into the bedroom. Placing the phone on the nightstand in case anyone decided to call, I spread the blanket over Blackie. As I step away from the bed, he starts to stir. A groan escapes his lips and a moment later his brown eyes open.

“Hi,” I murmur, moving closer.

Licking his dry lips, he tries to sit up and his face immediately contorts with pain.

“Don’t move,” I tell him, laying my hand gently against his chest. “I’ll get you another pillow.”

“Fuck,” he hisses, dropping his head back. Moving to the other side of the bed, I grab the other pillow. With one knee on the bed, I lean over him and gently help him lift his head. Propping the pillow on top of the other one, I inch back as he lowers himself.

“There,” I whisper, tucking his hair behind his ears. He wraps his fingers around my wrist, keeping my hand in place. Staring at me with an overwhelming intensity, I wait for him to say something. When he doesn’t, I chalk up the expression on his face to pain.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

Confused by the question, I narrow my eyes.

“You were shot and you’re asking me if I’m okay?”

“I’ve been shot before.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” I say, cocking my head to the side. “I’m okay,” I assure him. “Do you want me to get you something? The guys stocked the fridge before they left.”

“You look tired. When was the last time you slept?”

“I…I’m not sure,” I answer, looking away. “Do I look that bad?”

“You look beautiful,” he replies, dropping his hand from my wrist. My gaze wanders back to him and I watch as he closes his eyes for a moment. Between the small talk and the avoidance, I wonder how much of the last few days he remembers and if he’s still feeling the effects of the booze.

“Lay down with me, Lacey,” he says gruffly, keeping his eyes closed.

Dragging my lower lip between my teeth, I move to the other side of the bed. Since he’s using both pillows, I lay my head against the mattress.

“I’m sorry I left you,” he whispers, reaching for my hand.

“I’m sorry I made you.”

Silence washes over us and though I know I should let him rest, I can’t stop myself from asking the question that’s been burning through me.

“Where were you?”

When he doesn’t answer right away, I turn my head to see if he’s fallen asleep. Keeping his eyes closed, he squeezes my hand.

“I went to see Christine.”

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