Filthy Lies Page 6

  JAMES

  Tomorrow would suck because my dad would make it suck. This was a simple fact that I knew would play out with the upmost certainty. With AC/DC's Thunderstruck blasting through my headphones, and less than five minutes of treadmill time to go, I went through the possible scenarios of how he'd call me out on the ultimatum he threw at me three weeks ago.

  I'd never do anything to hurt my mother. And ignoring my father wouldn't eradicate the problems there, either. Those would never go away. So, I'd go to Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow and put on a show that said he wasn't getting to me.

  Maybe alcohol could help with that.

  As the song ended, I thought I heard what sounded like a thump, but I dismissed it because I was pounding out the last bit of the incline portion of my run. A hot shower was going to feel so good in a few minutes. So would the whack job while I was in there—

  Thump…thump…

  Where the fuck was that noise coming from?

  I ripped out my headphones, and that's when I heard screaming along with the vicious pounding. "James…James…Jaaaaames!"

  I ran toward the screams.

  The closer I got, the easier they were to identify.

  But the sight of her just about killed me. I'm sure I lost a good five years off my life when I ripped open my front door to find Winter on the other side of it covered in blood.

  Oh fuck, no!

  "I've got you, baby. I've got you," I repeated as I gathered her from the floor and carried her trembling body inside my apartment. We went straight into the bathroom where the light was good and the first-aid supplies were kept. "Can you tell me what happened, sweetheart?"

  I got a lot of words, but very little of what she told me came out coherently. I heard parts of explanations as I settled her onto the marble counter like: "baking cookies for Shane" and "so hot it burned" and "the knife rack on the cabinet" and "blood," so I got the gist of it. There was a shit-ton of blood and that scared me, but I also noticed she wasn't completely responsive to my questioning. Her eyes looked a little glazed, and I figured she was probably in shock.

  "Whoa, can you sit up here okay? I don't want you falling off and hitting your head."

  She focused on my face and nodded slowly. "I can't look. The blood…it makes me sick…" She trailed off weakly before her neck flopped to the side.

  "Okay. It's okay, Win. I'm going to help you, but I want you to take some deep breaths and lean on me. Don't worry about a thing right now. Just breathe and try to relax. I've got you." I cradled her head in my hands and held her steady until she focused on me again. "You did the right thing, Win." You came to me for help.

  Her beautiful green eyes with their distinctive rings of gold around the iris filled with tears as she looked at me. She was scared and emotional, but I could tell she was trying to be brave, and I felt her relax a bit. "I could h-h-hear you w-working out." She took in a few deep breaths as she tried to calm herself.

  "That's it, sweetheart. Breathe for me. I've got you, and I'm going to take a look at your hand, okay?" She whimpered as I talked her through it. "I don't want you to look, though. I want you to keep your eyes on the wall. Just look over my shoulder and focus on the pattern in the tile. Can you do that for me, Win?"

  "Y-yesss." Her voice was thready, but I could hear the determination in her one-word answer. I was so grateful she'd come to find me when she needed help. Thank God I heard those thumps on my door. I realized now the sound had been her feet kicking against it. Very resourceful considering she'd been unable to use her hands, with one injured and the other occupied to stem the bleeding.

  "You are so brave right now. Badass is a good description for you." I rambled out more words of praise as I gently tugged her hand away from where she clutched it against her stomach. "Let me get a towel—"

  "I'll get blood all over it."

  I could hear panic settling in. "It's a towel, Win. Who cares?" I grabbed a clean towel off the rack and draped it over her lap and legs, which were also covered in blood. Jesus Christ, how bad was this going to be? Now I was nervous. "I want you to count the tiles on the wall and don't look at your hand. Can you do that for me, baby?"

  "Y-y-yesss."

  "Good girl," I said as I gently peeled off the kitchen mitt she'd used to wrap her hand. I made a point not to react in any way that might upset her further, but fuuuuck. The cut was at least two inches long and sliced midway between her thumb and index finger on her right hand. Blood began seeping as soon as pressure was removed. It was difficult to see how deep the cut had gone, but judging from the amount of blood still coming out of the wound? Too fucking deep. There might be tendon or nerve damage that could impair her range of motion in that hand for all I knew. I wasn't a doctor, but I was smart enough to know she needed to be seen by one. "I'm going to take you to the ER so they can fix you up."

  "Oh, God." Her whole body trembled mightily, but she kept her head facing the wall like I'd told her to. "How bad is it?"

  "I think the cut isn't so wide as it is deep. You're going to need stitches, but the docs will know how to take care of it. Let me get it wrapped back up for now, and then I'll take you to the hospital."

  She started sobbing again as I quickly washed my hands in the sink, but there was no protest about my plan. I could tell she was trying very hard to deal with the situation even though she was on the verge of falling apart. I needed to get her mind off her injury, and do it quickly.

  "So, who is this Shane you were baking cookies for when you had your accident? Do I need to be worried about him taking my girl away from me?" I pulled open the drawer where I kept the first-aid shit and gathered some sterile gauze and a new ACE bandage still in the package.

  She half laughed and groaned. "Well, it's true he's already stolen my heart."

  "So, you're telling me I have some competition I didn't even know about?" I kept it light and teasing, as I packed the cut with gauze to absorb the seeping blood. I decided against cleaning or applying any kind of antibacterial because it was probably beyond that scope, especially if the wound was still bleeding, so I wrapped more gauze around the width of her whole hand to close the cut and keep it as stabilized as possible.

  "But I told you about him last week," she said tightly, her head still facing the bathroom wall over my shoulder.

  "Ahh, so he's a young guy then?" I took the ACE bandage and started wrapping, sealing over the sterile gauze until her hand was completely bound with her thumb flush against the side. It would do until a doctor could get to it.

  "Very young." I detected a tiny hint of humor in her voice, and it relieved me.

  "Are you cougaring these days, Win? Gosh, I had no idea."

  "I don't think cougaring is quite it. That would get me into some trouble with the law considering I'm twenty-four and he's six," she said tiredly.

  Shane was the little boy who came to the youth center. I'd be lying if knowing he was a kid didn't make me really fucking happy. I'd also be lying if I couldn't admit that the thought of Winter wanting another guy absolutely cut me off at the knees. I wanted her. I wanted her to be mine. "I must meet this Shane and set him straight. He needs to know that I've got my eyes on him," I joked.

  She rested her forehead on my shoulder, and I felt her grow heavy against me as she leaned forward. "I don't feel very good…I think…I…I'm gonna be siiiiick—"

  I moved quickly to get her off the countertop and leaned her over the toilet, so she could get it over with. There was nothing fucking worse than the feeling you got right before you're going to puke. Poor thing. I rubbed her back with one hand and turned on the hot water in the sink with the other. She gagged and retched but not a lot came out. When she was done, I flushed the toilet and closed the lid and helped her to sit on top of it. "You okay, sweetheart?" I handed her a wet washcloth.

  She buried her face in the washcloth with her good hand and groaned. "Yeah…better. Thank you. I don't know what I would have done if you w-weren't"—a deep shuddering sob escap
ed—"h-here to help m-m-me."

  "Shhhh." I put the washcloth back under the running water and then held her face to mine. "But I was here. And you came to get me, and everything is going to be fine. We need to clean you up a bit and get you dressed, and then we can go."

  "Okay." She looked so sad and defeated as she stared at me with her tear-filled eyes and nodded her head a few times. I wanted to kiss her. Crazy lunatic that I was, I wanted to kiss her right now, while she was scared and hurt and upset. What the fuck is wrong with you?

  What was wrong with me was I had it bad for a girl I should not have had it bad for.

  I wet the washcloth a second time and wrung it out. I started with the blood on her arms first before moving to her legs. She glanced at me working a few times, now that her cut was out of sight. I caught a shudder or two from her as the blood was wiped away, and sympathized with her queasiness at the sight of it. Because there was a lot to clean off her. At least I could admire her gorgeous legs beneath my hands with nothing but the flimsy robe covering her. I'd gotten a peek of sexy pink panties when she'd been bent over and retching, so at least she wasn't totally naked underneath the thing, and we didn't have that awkwardness to deal with on top of everything else. What I wouldn't give to touch her like this without it being a fucking traumatic situation for her. Christ, it was hard to remain calm when my heart was pounding inside my chest from being so physically close I could smell her. Oranges. Her scent always reminded me of oranges.

  When the last of the dried blood was wiped away, I was relieved. I wasn't made of stone, and touching her so intimately had given me an epic and totally inappropriate hard-on. A raging boner she would have noticed if she weren't so out of it.

  "Listen, I'm gonna have you lie on my bed while I take a two-minute shower before I get dressed, because I know I stink." She could hardly sit up, and I definitely couldn't trust her not to fall and crack her head open, so bed was my only option.

  She didn't even take the golden opportunity I'd handed her to joke about my stench. "That's a good idea," she weakly, closing her eyes the second she was prone on my bed. My Winter was a beautiful mess at the moment. My Winter was in my bed…

  God.

  "I'll be back in five minutes ready to go." She nodded at me without opening her eyes. "Just keep breathing deep and steady, and try to relax." I fought the urge to kiss her again.

  I hit the bathroom and ditched my shorts for what had to be my speediest shower on record. I didn't even wait for the water to get all the way hot, but jumped under the spray, got wet, soaped myself, rinsed, and stepped out. The cool water gave the added advantage of tamping down my dick, so…bonus.

  I dried off as I walked to my closet. Winter never even glanced my way and looked like she was asleep. Maybe that was another positive though. She didn't need the added complication of my cock on display and gunning for her.

  God, what a clusterfuck.

  Five minutes later I was dressed, but Winter wasn't. I couldn't take her into the ER in the flimsy—read, sexy-as-fuck—robe. Well, it could be sexy if not covered in blood. She needed clothes.

  And that was a problem.

  Because Winter was so wiped out physically—practically incoherent after the panicking and puking—and was no help whatsoever. I'd have to figure out how to get her dressed on my own.

  Thank God her apartment door hadn't locked behind her when she'd left to find me, because we didn't share spare keys. Caleb probably had one, but he wasn't here to ask. Once I had a spare moment at the ER, I'd let him know what happened to his sister.

  Winter mumbled something I couldn't decipher as I took her into her bedroom. To save time, I'd carried her out of my apartment, used the elevator to get us to her floor, and continued to carry her to her place rather than trying to help her walk. Despite the shitty circumstances, I loved the fact she was in my arms right now. So close to me. But Winter was in and out, and not fully in control by any stretch. "What you want to wear?" I asked against her ear, so she might hear me and actually comprehend my question.

  She pointed to her walk-in. "Left side drawers has…y-y-yoga pants…Red S-s-sox sh-shirrrrt…"

  "Okay, wait here and just keep breathing. Think about something nice and good to take your mind off everything," I said as I carefully lowered her onto her bed.

  "You're nice and good, James. Soooo…good to me…alllll the time," she said in a lax voice with her eyes closed. I wondered what in the hell was going on in her mind to make her say those words to me right at this moment. In spite of her trauma, she was telling me that I was good and nice? Winter never ceased to amaze me with how big her heart was. It took every ounce of strength I had in me to leave her to go into her closet and search for yoga pants and a Sox shirt. I'd have to deal.

  I found out the hard way that "dealing" sucked ass.

  Undressing a woman was easier than putting clothes back on. This I discovered when said woman was barely able to stand. I felt myself breaking out in a sweat after dragging and yanking the gray yoga pants up her long sexy legs. At least the bottom half of her was covered, I reasoned after I'd finished.

  But the top half of her was about to get uncovered, because I had to remove the robe to put a shirt on her. There was a twinge of guilt at seeing her bare breasts…but not that much. It was a clear case of sorry, not sorry.

  Fuuuuck, she had beautiful tits.

  Full and round, tipped with rosy nipples just begging for my mouth, and other things. Clamped, dappled in melted wax, artfully bound—I could picture everything—ready for my reawakening cock.

  I remembered well the first and only time I'd seen them before tonight. Her fifteenth birthday party when Janice, Caleb's psycho ex, ripped off Winter's bathing suit top in the pool. God, I'd hated how much it had embarrassed her. I'd comforted her to the best I was able in a situation with people all around us, but I'd never forgotten how gorgeous she was even then. How could I ever forget?

  The past nine years had only served to form her beauty into a more perfect version with maturity. She moaned and fluttered her eyes open as I struggled with the pink T-shirt. "You're looking at my boobs," she muttered at me.

  "That couldn't be helped, sweetheart," I said right back. "And for the record, your boobs are spectacular, and I couldn't have not looked at them unless I had no pulse."

  She giggled at me.

  In fact, she didn't look in the least disturbed by our topic of conversation—that she'd caught me checking out her tits and ogling them.

  Crazy shit kept happening here. There was no other way to describe this night.

  "Okay, shoes," I commanded.

  It appeared she'd come out of her fog a bit, to the point she was able to actually help me get shoes onto her feet. The difference between helping vs. helpless was nothing short of miraculous.

  "My phone is there on the bedside table. Can you turn it on for me?"

  "Sure thing." I finished tying her shoes and grabbed the phone. "We should bring your ID too."

  "My wallet is in my backpack…I think in the hallway." She glanced at me and then frowned as if she'd remembered something. "Oh shit! I didn't turn the oven off. I just left it."

  "Good call remembering that, Win. I'll take care of the oven on our way out." I helped her up from her bed to stand against me, all soft and rumpled from my less-than-efficient dressing techniques. She looked like an exquisite goddess to me. I held her face in both hands and brought us very close—close enough to kiss her.

  I wanted to.

  I almost did.

  At the last moment I remembered why I shouldn't…and I was fucking frustrated. God, I wish she was mine. "Let's get you to a doc who can fix your hand," I said far too harshly.

  Winter didn't flinch. She held on to my eyes with hers and said two small words that made my cock jump at the sharp jolt I felt all the way to my balls.

  "Yes, sir."

  Was I only imagining something I wanted to believe?

  But, there was no sarcasm in he
r words. Just trust…and the desire to please me?

  She chose—did I dare imagine it was possible—to be submissive to me?

  Winter was allowing me to take over control of care for her. Easily. There was no resistance, only willingness.

  Something I'd never considered before this moment was how Winter might feel about my little secret.

  What if she wanted it with me?

  I didn't know the answer to that question yet, but I did know something.

  Finding out had absolutely jumped to the top of my list.

  Chapter Seven

  JAMES

  Closing in on five hours later, I had her back at the apartment with both of us in desperate need of sleep. The ER had been exhausting for her, but at least she'd been able to leave there with prognosis for a full recovery. She'd undergone a lot of tests to determine if there was any nerve damage, which would have necessitated immediate surgery to repair if the results had been classed at third-degree or above. Winter's injury was deemed second-degree, and would most likely recover slowly on its own.

  Thank God, because she was right-handed.

  Apparently, she'd sliced through the muscle that controlled movement of the thumb. She'd just barely nicked the sheath surrounding the medial nerve of her right hand. A close call, but not deep enough to sever the nerve, so she'd been able to receive layered stitches and antibiotics instead of surgery. Not surprisingly, the majority of her pain came from the superficial dermal burns to the inside of her fingers. We'd guessed that the hot pad she'd used to take the cookies from the oven had been wet on one side. As soon as the metal pan came in contact with the wet cloth, it had conducted searing steam straight onto the skin of her palm. No wonder she'd dropped everything and flailed her hand away. That she'd flailed it directly into the blade of a really sharp fucking knife? Goddamn unfortunate.

  Still, watching her endure the endless probing into her open wound, the electric shocks, the shots, the scans, and the stitches hadn't been a walk in the park. Winter had a severe phobic reaction to the sight of blood and gore. So severe in fact, it had been really difficult for her to remain conscious throughout their procedures. I'd asked if they could give her something to calm her down, but they'd needed her awake to respond to the nerve-function testing. It had felt like an endless cycle of trauma for several tortuous hours: Winter withstanding the discomfort of whatever test they were conducting, and then her emotional breakdown as she had to mentally process each new thing, and was unable to manage much beyond lapsing in and out of awareness.