Page 58 of Ridin’ Dirty

But another part of me couldn’t help but to admit, his life was turned upside down, too. Moreover, whatever shit was coming his way had far more dire consequences.

It couldn’t be denied our situation was a fucking mess. There was nothing fair or easy about it. We’d been married thirty-six hours, and it already felt like we’d both been to hell and back. We merely took different roads to get there.

Now we were home.

Whatever that meant.

I couldn’t even begin to explain how we got here. It all seemed so ridiculous.

Raking my fingers through my hair, I blew out a sigh and shook away my thoughts. It had been a long day, and I didn’t have the capacity to piece it all together in order to make sense of it. The best I could do was to make sure Pistol was okay. It wasn’t my fault that he was ambushed, abducted, and tied to a chair for who knows how long—but the fact that my brother was the one to lay hands on him left me in a weird place.

I wanted to help.

I needed to help.

I glanced at the clock on the stove and saw it was nearly twelve-thirty in the morning. This meant Pistol had been in the shower going on twenty minutes. I decided enough time had lapsed that I could check on him.

Reaper lifted her head and looked up at me as I approached, pressing my ear against the door. All I heard was water. When I glanced back down at the pup, I swear her eyes told me I was being too timid.

“Fine,” I whispered at her before I cleared my throat and knocked. “Everything okay in there?”

“Not made of glass,” he yelled back.

Meeting Reaper’s eyes once more, I shrugged. She huffed and dropped her head back onto her paws, like she didn’t find me the least bit helpful.

I tried again.

“I’ve got pain meds in the kitchen when you’re ready.”

This didn’t earn me a reply; but as I began to walk away, I heard the shower cut off, and I considered that a win. I raised my eyebrows at Reaper, as if to say, ‘See? Not useless, after all,’ then returned to the kitchen.

It was another ten minutes before I heard Pistol’s bare feet and Reaper’s clipped nails against the hard floors coming my direction. I reached for the bottle of pain meds and opened it, shaking two capsules into my palm. I was twisting the lid back on when I sensed him behind me, and I was quick to turn around. The gasp I sucked in at the sight of him couldn’t be helped.

On any other day, under very different circumstances, the sight of him in hardly more than a pair of gray sweatpants, his curly blond locks dark and heavy in their damp state, would have made my breath catch for a variety of reasons. But at present, the sight of him without a shirt on felt like a gut punch.

It was impossible to ignore the beauty of the chest piece that spanned across his pecs—two pistols, barrels pointed at each shoulder, laying in a bed of smoke and roses—the piece done entirely in black and gray. But it was the blue and purple that stole the show. He was covered in bruises, a particularly gnarly one on his left side.

Two ibuprofens wasn’t going to be nearly enough.

I blinked then turned for the bottle, shaking two more capsules into my palm. I then held all four out in offering. He grabbed them, tossed them into his mouth, then reached for the glass of water. He downed the whole thing, put the glass back on the counter, then turned to leave.

“Wait, where do you think you’re going?” I asked, hurrying around him to block his path.

“Bed.”

I gaped at him. “Have you looked in the mirror? You can’t go to bed like this. Your eye is going to be swollen shut in the morning if we don’t ice it. And that bruise could use a chill, too,” I urged, pointing toward his ribs. Next, I motioned toward the table and demanded, “Sit down.”

He stared at me blankly, and I thought maybe he’d ignore me. But after a long pause, he rotated on his heel and dragged his feet to the table.

I nodded to myself, allowing a second for me to bask in my victory, and then I started prepping a couple ice bundles. When I had two wads made, I joined him, handing over one of the packed tea towels.

“For your side,” I instructed, pulling a chair closer. I sat, propped my elbow on the table, then gently pressed the second ice bundle against his eye. He hissed and jerked away, but I cupped my hand around his opposite cheek and tried again. “Not so tough now, are you?” I teased.

He grunted, but he didn’t fight me, and that felt like another win.

“You don’t have to do this.”

I looked him in his decent eye and shrugged.