Page 148 of First Chance

I help him peel his clothes off before I drop mine on the floor beside them.

His eyelids flutter heavily as he watches me, but he doesn’t say anything as I pull him into the shower.

The bruise on his side from the tow cable snapping is black and blue, and bigger than a softball. I don’t touch it, but I run soap over him everywhere else, cleaning yesterday away.

“Rinse,” I instruct, but he doesn’t move back.

He steps forward, wrapping his arm around my waist and backing me into the shower wall where his other hand pillows the back of my head. His lips take mine in a desperate attack of sorrow, terror, passion, all the pent-up emotions that he bottles in so well.

He kisses me like this might be the last time, but I’m determined not to let that happen.

He’s hard-headed, but I’m stubborn.

My hands trail up his chest to his neck, careful not to put any weight on him, and I slip my tongue between his lips, feeling his moan against my hands. His cock grows harder, bobbing against my stomach as I make love to his mouth.

I’m so in love with him, it hurts inside because it doesn’t seem to matter.

It seems as if we’re destined to go our separate ways.

Chapter Fifty-Three

Lochlan

Almost losing her has me all twisted up in my head. Hearing her beg to be buried next to my family is a feeling I can’t describe.

I don’t want to think about her name on a headstone at all, but every time I’ve imagined it, it’s etched in stone next to mine.

It’s delusional.

But it’s the only thing that feels right.

I’ll be buried in an unmarked grave before I put my name on a stone without hers. That’s how meaningless my life feels without her.

I tighten my arms around her, letting the dull pain radiate through my side. Over the course of the last few hours, the pain has been constant, but the sharpness has dissipated slightly.

Still hurts like a bitch. Which means there is no hauling her to my bed like I want to. Not without making her worry.

She notices my pain anyway. “Is it your ribs?”

“Hayes thinks I bruised my spleen.”

“He’s a medical professional, now?”

“No, but he’s smart like you and he’s seen a lot of injuries.”

She sighs because she knows I won’t budge about seeing a doctor. “What can I get you?”

“Ibuprofen. And, a shot of whiskey would do the trick,” I utter against her neck.

“Go get in bed. I’ll be right behind you.”

As soon as I settle onto the mattress, my pain eases. When I’m relaxed, it isn’t nearly as bad, and I’m exhausted.

I could sleep for days, but days are all I have left with her.

“Three ibuprofen and one shot of whiskey. I’d normally discourage this type of mix, but I think you’ve earned it.”

I swallow back the pills with the burn of the alcohol and breathe through the aching in my side. When I open my eyes, she’s kneeling on the bed, staring solemnly at my bruise.

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