Shame

HE HURT.

Like...all over hurt and it wasn’t because he’d gone and gotten crazy, had himself some dirty fun, either.

No, he was hurt in a way he hadn’t hurt in a long, long time.

All those aches were enough to make him panic as he started to surface from the fog of sleep and he struggled without even thinking.

And that made the pain worse.

“Hush.”

A soft voice murmured in his ears, hands grabbing one arm.

He kept jerking, trying to sit up, but he was too sore—

“Max Schaeffer, either you be still or I’m calling an ambulance, do you hear me?”

Finally, the voice penetrated the fog in his head and he managed to crack one eye open. “Charli?”

The other eye stayed stubbornly shut and he had a feeling as to why.

Shame had taken more than a couple of beatings in his life and now that he was no longer completely out of his head and half asleep, he could differentiate the pain he felt now from...other times. He’d gotten into a fight. A bad one.

But it was just a fight.

“Who else would it be? The tooth fairy?” she said, her face lost in the darkness.

“Did I lose any?”

There was a faint pause before she asked, “Any what?”

“Teeth.”

“No. You lost some blood, you’re bruised and battered, and you scared ten years off Con’s life, but that’s it.” She stroked his arm up and down, but something made him think she wasn’t even aware she was doing it.

Turning his head, he tried to see her better.

The lights were too low, though.

“We... Where are we?”

“My house.” She got up and moved away. He could barely make out her shadow until she hit a light switch. It was out in the hall, but even that was enough to have him cringing. Light shone in, highlighting her petite form and casting a nimbus around her hair. “I had Con load you up in my car before you woke, then he hauled you in here. He only left about ten minutes ago.”

“No reason, f’ that.” Sighing, he shifted on the bed. Immediately, that set a familiar scent to drifting around him and damn his horny ass, his cock started to stir.

He was in Charli’s bed.

Granted, it was the only bed on the bottom floor, but Con should have dumped his ass on the couch.

He was in her bed and he could smell her on the sheets...and he’d smell her skin on his when he got up. It had taken too long to wash off that scent last time, and now here he was, practically bathing in it. As tired as he was, as sore as he was, the scent of her and the thought of lying in the same bed where she slept, of being covered by the same sheets that covered her, was enough to have his cock standing up to say hello.

As Charli sat back down in the armchair near the bed, he grimaced and managed to bring his knee up. It was a weak-ass effort to hide the fact that she’d already given him a hard-on, but he’d rather not make a display of it after the way he’d left things between them.

But Charli looked only at his face.

Holding up two fingers, she asked, “How many?”

“Shit. I don’t need this,” he muttered.

“You scared my brother to death. I had to haul myself out of bed to deal with you. You’re now lying in my bed when I’d very much like to be there myself. You can answer a couple of fucking questions, Shame.”

The hostility in her voice caught him off guard. He was used to a lot of things from her—that seductive sensuality she’d been displaying more and more, a caustic sense of humor, sly wit...even sadness. But this...this was anger and he hadn’t expected it.

Maybe he should have.

“Two. I don’t have a concussion, Charlotte.”

“Don’t call me that,” she said, voice cool. “Mom and Dad called me that. I don’t want to hear it from you.”

“Fuck, is there anything I can do that won’t piss you off right now?”

She flicked a look at him and then pursed her lips, tapping them. “I’m thinking... No.”

After that, she moved over to the edge of the bed and held up her finger, twirled it—the one she’d just tapped against her lips. “I need you to half-turn. I need to check your wound.”

“Do it tomorrow.”

“It is tomorrow. It’s five a.m. I need to look at it. Are you going to let me, or are you going to continue being an ass?”

Wordlessly, he brought his left knee up—good news was that his cock had deflated. Nothing like Charli letting him know she had finally figured out the truth to knock the want right out of him. She was treating him as if he had the plague. Basically, as she should have treated him all along.

He didn’t know why it hurt.

It was what he wanted.

But it did hurt.

He had to grip one of the wooden slats of the headboard to stay up on his hip and a cold sweat had broken out across him by the time she pressed her fingers to his shoulder. “Okay, you can lie back.”

Black dots danced in and out of his vision as he settled down and stared up at the ceiling, waiting for it to clear.

“You’ve got eighteen stitches. They need to stay in for two weeks. Once that time is up, I’ll take them out.”

“You don’t need to. I’ll see Doc Rodriguez for it.”

“That won’t work.” She rose and stared down at him, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Why not?”

She hesitated a moment, then shrugged. “He’ll want to know what doctor treated you. You can’t say it was me, and if you don’t give him answers, it might cause problems. That’s most definitely an injury from a knife. He might feel obligated to notify the police.”

“Why can’t I say it was you?”

“Can’t you just go to sleep?” she demanded, shoving her hair back from her face. Her cheeks were hollower than they should be, he realized. She’d lost weight.

“Why, Charli?”

“Because, you dumbass. I shouldn’t have taken care of you at all. I’m still a resident, remember? If words gets back that I did this, I could lose my license.” She turned on her heel and headed for the door. “Get some rest.”

* * * * *

WHEN HE WOKE AGAIN, it was to the soft patter of rain.

He went to shift in the bed, grimacing at the pain, his mouth dry as cotton and head pounding.

When he turned, he bumped into something.

No.

Somebody.

And he immediately knew who it was, even though it was too dim to see and his head was a fucking mess.

The scent wrapped around him, but even that wasn’t what clued him in.

There was no way somebody could be in the bed with him and not wake him...unless it was Charli.

Although, as he craned his head and looked, he couldn’t really say she was in bed with him.

She was sitting with her back to the headboard, head slumped, breath coming in a slow, steady rhythm.

She’d fallen asleep.

Slowly, ignoring the misery it caused, he reached out and took one ankle, guiding her leg down. Then the other. By the time he’d worked her down so that she was lying in the bed and not sitting up, he’d broken out in a cold sweat, but it was worth it.

Now, he had to get his ass up, move over to the chair...

He rolled to his other side.

Those annoying black dots danced in front of his vision again.

And when he pushed up, they just got worse.

A hand brushed his hip while he was working up the energy to try one more time.

But before he could, Charli snuggled in closer, her fingers tugging insistently at his hip.

He told himself it was because he was so fucking tired, drained.

Weak was more like it—and he was weak, weak when it came to her.

That was why he went to his back.

When she burrowed in closer, still asleep, he lifted his arm to make room. As she sighed, a sound that was soft and content, he closed his eyes and turned his face into her hair.

Charli...

He lay there like that, holding her.

Bit by bit, he grew aware that he was sweating. Freezing, too. Skin felt too tight and hot, but that didn’t matter.

Charli was curled up against him, her cheek on his chest, her hand lying over his heart.

She’d wake up and be pissed. He couldn’t blame her.

But he’d have this memory, right?

Or maybe she’d wake up and kiss him.

She’d done that before.

He’d kissed her back.

He’d fucked her.

Then he’d told her she should go.

A hundred times he’d wished he hadn’t.

Maybe this time...

He slid into sleep with maybe dancing in his brain, and a fever burning him up.