Page 51 of Reins

So much of what I believed was a lie, fabricated by the evil that’s long buried.

My ears ring and my throat is a desert, sapping the words before I can speak.

Everyone who was supposed to love her, hurt her.

It’s only as my blurry gaze falls on the purple mottled bruise that I remember what I’m supposed to be doing.

“Ros? Can I touch you? I just want to see if you broke a rib.” My palms poise over her heaving belly.

After she nods, I tenderly rest my hands against her fractured marks.

No one should ever experience this. She deserves to have someone who loves her painlessly, without causing more. Who sees every dimpled strike as the proof of her resilience and an obstacle she overcame.

Not a weakness or a burden.

With a sharp inhale, she winces when I reach the center of the injury.

“I’m not a doctor,” I admonish her. “But I don’t think it’s broken. I don’t know about your organs though.” I add just a little more pressure, relieved when she doesn’t act like she’s in any more distress.

“I tried to tell you.” A flit of a smile flickers and disappears as she looks down to where our skin meets. “Your hands are warm.”

I’m torn on whether I should pull away. “Is that a bad thing?”

Loose strands of her blonde hair sway across her bandaged temple when she shakes her head. “It’s my new favorite thing.”

Heat rushes through my chest at her hushed words.

It’s mine too, I’m just not sure if I want to say it.

My palms cool when I pull away. “Let’s look at that elbow, huh?” I don’t want to read more into her admission than I should.

Her brows knit as she swivels slowly to offer her arm.

Goosebumps erupt over her marred shoulder when I start to dab the blood away. The scars end above where her sleeve would, a purposeful break in the line of punishment that shows just how premeditated the torture really was.

I wish I was the man to show Rosalyn what love feels like.

But knowing how desperately I loved the woman who caused this much pain…I’m just as much the monster.

After getting her wound cleaned, it ends up being just a hard scrape. With some ointment and a clean bandage, it will eventually be just another scar painted on the canvas of her body. Her other arm is bruised but not bleeding. She’s gonna be sore as shit for a while.

Sitting back, I scrutinize my doctoring skills with a frown. “I think you’re getting off the hook of having to go to the hospital.” Letting a soft lift of my cheek sneak out, I meet her big blue eyes. “I’m going to get your bag from the truck so you have a clean shirt.” Letting out a sigh, I glance down to her knee. “Then we’ll tackle your leg. Are you doing okay? Want a Dr. Pepper?”

My own joints scream at me when I push to my feet.

I need a fucking beer. Maybe that bottle of bourbon I have stashed in my truck? Hell, it would help her with the pain too.

“I’d like that.” She winces as she shifts.

Grabbing the small throw blanket from the cushion of the couch, I drape her shoulders and tuck it against her chest.

The last thing I want to do is ever make her feel exposed or vulnerable. She’s already been through too much.

“I’ll be right back.” I don’t even bother with my jacket when I go out into the freezing air.

A light snow drifts down, highlighted in the glowing pillars from the halogen bulbs.

It’s a good night to lay low. What a damn Christmas Eve this turned into?