Page 85 of Bones
I had to resist the urge to smooth down his hair. He was the same age as Dune?—
I bit the side of my cheek hard enough to taste blood and strode toward the bedroom. I could not go down that mental path right now.
Mac lay on his side, shivering hard with his eyes closed on one of the lower bunks. I perched on the side of the mattress, placing my hand on his forehead. He was burning up, even hotter than Trey had been. His eyes cracked open and blinked at me in confusion.
“Bones?”
“It’s ok,” I murmured. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, so I pulled the blanket down just enough to bare his muscular chest, noting the numerous scars on his tan skin. “I’m gonna heal you.”
He went quiet, but his eyes stayed open, staring at me as I healed him. It was starting to hurt now, and I hoped Cloud found Griz or Sam. I’d probably be able to still walk after this, but I’d need a horse for sure after the next?—
Mac’s fingers brushed my cheek, and I startled out of my thoughts.
“What’s the matter?” I asked, worried by the pain in his eyes.
His hand dropped heavily back down to the bed. “M’ sorry,” he mumbled.
“What for?”
“All of it.”
I stared down at him, my mind racing. I wasn’t sure what to say. “Mac?—”
“S’ not ok,” he mumbled. “I never shoulda brought you here.”
I sighed, remembering all our earlier fights and what the kids had told me. “I know you didn’t have a choice, Mac.”
“I couldn’t let Trey die.” His eyes were so anguished.
“I know.”
“He’s my brother.”
“I know, Mac. It’s ok.”
Guilt filled me. He wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t already know, but I also knew he was only saying these things because he wasn’t in his right mind.
“M’ not ok with it,” he said, sounding desperate again.
“I know,” I tried to soothe him. “You told me, remember?”
“No.” He seemed to grow agitated. “M’ not ok with what she makes you do.”
“I know, Mac. It’s not your fault.”
“It’s ok if you hate me,” he mumbled and the pain in his eyes was so sharp.
“I don’t,” I said, surprised to realize it was true.
“It’s ok, you should?—”
“Mac,” I interrupted him, leaning forward so I could make sure I caught his gaze. “I don’t hate you.”
He stared hard at me with pained grey eyes, his brow furrowed, but didn't say anything.
“I don’t hate you, Mac,” I said again, softer, and something like relief flashed across his face.
I focused on healing him again. That spot of sickness fought back fiercely, sapping more of my strength than I’d anticipated.
