Page 39 of The Fighter

The buzzing kept going and after a while, my brain processed them as voices. Oh, that was right. Voices. Humans.

Con.

Con.

“Con?” That was a different voice, and damn if it didn’t take me a good minute until I realized it wasmine. At least my lips weren’t stapled.

A hand touched my forehead, fingers tangled in my hair, in my scalp. I loved that, his hands in my hair. My sister had done that. “Like your fingers in my hair,” I mumbled.

“I know,” Con’s voice said from over me.

I still couldn’t open my eyes. “Can you get the staples out?”

“The staples?” He was confused.

“Yeah, fucking staples.”

There was another voice. Female. “…concussion. No need to keep him awake.”

“So I can let him sleep?” Con again.

“Yes, I wrapped his ribs. Just bruised. He might want stitches on that eyebrow if he doesn’t want it to scar.”

Scar? Who gives a fuck. “No stitches.” I mumbled. “Did you take out the staples yet?”

“Why’s he talking about staples?” I didn’t think Con was asking me.

“I have no idea.” The lady sounded amused by that.

I moved my fingers. Okay, so those weren’t stapled. I knew this fabric, this sheet. I was in Con’s bedroom. It smelled like him.

Con’s voice filtered in an out. “…blood. I want all the tests. Every test. Full panel.”

There was a pause before the woman spoke again. “Of course, Conrad, but he should agree?—”

“I don’t give a fuck. He’s in my home. He’s in my care. And he’s mine. Now take his damn blood.”

My arm moved, something tight wrapped around my bicep and then a needle pricked the inside of my arm. The blood flowed, Con’s hand combed my hair, and I drifted off.

When I woke again, the staples had been taken out. Or, at least, I could open my eyes. They were still heavy as hell. My whole face hurt, which wasn’t unusual. That fight had been particularly hellish. My head hadn’t been in it, which was half the problem. The other half was that Shock was a damn good fighter.

I blinked at the ceiling, my left side heated by the sun filtering in through Con’s bedroom windows. There was a heat at my other side too and when I rolled my head, I met Con’s eyes where he sat against the headboard. He held a paperback in his hands, but he was watching me. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I was in a fight.” It hurt to talk. I raised my hand and fingered a cut on my bottom lip.

“Ah, yes, I was there.”

I didn’t remember much from last night, but I remembered the fight. And I sort of remembered Con. “You saw the fight?”

A muscle in his jaw ticked. “Yes.”

I felt bile rise in my throat. Fuck. Why the hell had he been there? He’d seen it all. He’d seenHusk. I lowered my hand back to the bad, wincing as a pain radiated into my side. I tried to smirk, but it hurt my lips. “So did you see the other guy?”

His mouth was set in a firm line. “It’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.” Because really, if I didn’t try to find amusement right now, I might crack.

Con’s stormy expression didn’t change, and I hated it. I wanted him to call me Tav. I wanted him to reach down and touch my face, run his fingers through my hair. Did he still want me? Refined, sophisticated, suit-wearing Conrad had seen me scrambling in an underground fight in a squalor of a dirty warehouse. What the hell could he still see in me? He wasn’t kicking me out though. That had to mean something that I was here.