Page 59 of When She Loves
When we pull into the garage, Sabina and one of the maids are already waiting for us.
“Where is Doc?” I ask as I help Cleo out of the Bugatti.
“In your bedroom,” Sabina answers. “He’s waiting for you.”
I brush past them with Cleo in my arms and take her straight upstairs.
Doc’s already got all of his supplies laid out. “Put her down here,” he says, pointing at the bed. He adjusts his glasses. “What happened?”
I lay Cleo down and lift my jacket to show him the wounds.
Fuck, they look awful. “She cut herself on some glass. I don’t think the cuts are deep, but there’s a lot of them.”
Doc tsks. “All right. Let’s get these cleaned up and see if she needs stitches.”
My head pounds. I don’t understand what’s wrong with me. This is far from the first time I’ve been shot at, but I’ve never been this shaken up. I glance down at my hands. They’re covered in dried blood.
Her blood.
I take a step toward the bathroom. I need to wash this off. “I’ll be right back,” I say gruffly.
In the bathroom, I scrub the mix of dirt and blood off my hands and roll up my sleeves. Most of the blood on my shirt also belongs to Cleo. I fucked up. As a husband and as a don. I should have been more careful. Guilt surges back into my consciousness. I clench my jaw against it.
No.
I don’t have the luxury of feeling guilty. Feelings have no place in the life of a don. I learned that a long time ago.
My breathing deepens. Slowly, I push all the useless emotions out of my mind until all that remains is a blank canvas. A canvas where I can paint whatever I want.
When I come out, Doc is rummaging in his bag. “She’s got eleven lacerations on her stomach. A few will require stitches and might result in light scarring. She also appears to have a concussion.”
I rewind what happened in the dining room inside my head. Now that I’ve calmed down, it’s easy, like watching a movie. “She fell hard to the ground at one point. When I first heard the shots, I acted on instinct and pulled her down.”
Doc takes out a syringe. “Well, you probably saved both of your lives by doing that. I’m confident Cleo will make a full recovery.”
The tension in my shoulders eases. “Good.”
He sits back down on the edge of the bed. “I’m going to get the glass out and clean your wounds.”
Cleo presses back against her pillow. “What’s that?”
“Just a local anesthetic.”
She swallows. “I don’t like needles.”
“If I don’t numb you, it’ll hurt a lot more.”
She looks at me like she’s hoping I’ll tell Doc not to inject her. I can’t do that. He needs to treat her.
“You’ll be fine. It’s just a few shots,” I say.
My dismissive remark doesn’t land well. Hurt flashes in her eyes, but then it’s gone. Her gaze shutters. A prolonged silence fills the room, and I feel like the shittiest husband in the world.
What the fuck am I supposed to do?
Doc clears his throat. “Maybe it would help if you sat beside Cleo.”
I clench my jaw. Of course. She needs to be comforted. I can do that. It’s my duty, isn’t it? I walk around the bed, climb in on the other side, and wrap my arm around her shoulders. She stiffens for a moment before she relaxes into my touch.
