Page 20 of He is… Creed: Part Two

“Yes.”

“That’s nuts. You’re soldiers. You need doctors. We need a doctor, not me. I don’t know what I’m doing and I have no supplies,” I repeat.

His lashes lower and he murmurs, “Okay.” It’s an illogical, detached reaction, that sets off warning bells, about his worsening condition.

Adrenaline surges inside and I shake him. “Creed. Creed, wake up. Put pressure on the wound so I can call downstairs and get supplies.” He doesn’t answer me, nor does he react at all, and I shake him again, lean over him and pat his face. “Wake up. You owe me the chance to fight this out with you once and for all. You owe me. You hurt me. You left me. You owe me.”

His sea blue eyes snap open and meet mine. “I’m here, Addie.”

“Then stay here,” I plead, and it’s a plea from the depth of my soul and filled with so many different meanings. I grab his hand and press it to his side, firming my voice, as I add, “You’re a soldier. Do your duty and survive. Apply pressure. Do not go to sleep.”

“As long as you promise to show me what a good soldier I am later.”

I glower at him, but I’m secretly relieved that he has such a comment in him. “We’ll talk when you're healed. We will not get naked,” I promise him, and proceed to move away from him.

His laugh is low, weak, pained, and somehow still sexy.

I shake myself and crawl to the bedside phone and call room service, ordering the odd list of things I need including needles, thread, two steak knives, scissors, two bottle of bourbon, and more towels, as if that list doesn’t paint a too obvious picture. I end my request with the promise of a two-hundred-dollar tip if I have the items in ten minutes.

I hang up the phone and breathe out.

How is that call not going to get the wrong attention? But Creed needs help now and Instacart would take too long. I did the right thing, I tell myself.

I had to order those supplies.

Chapter Nineteen

I hang up the phone to the sound of ripped material, to find Creed sitting up and obviously creating his own tourniquet. It’s a smart move, one I would not be able to do without scissors, but surprising considering he was about to pass out a few minutes before. He’s literally sitting up, and moving, albeit stiffly, as if he’s semi-fine.

“I can help,” I say, closing the space between us, and pushing to my feet, but he’s already wrapping the sheet around his body.

“He’s standing outside your door,” he growls, pulling the newly created bandage snuggly around him.

I don’t have to ask who “he” is or how he knows, as he’s already proven his skills have expanded beyond what I knew them to be before our split. As for who—he means Brock. And the idea that he’s come back is not a good one, not when Creed is all but bleeding to death.

“He can’t get in,” I remind him, shocked that the very idea had somehow created this burst of adrenaline in Creed.

“And what about when you open the door?” he challenges.

“You’ll know if he’s there. And if he is, we’ll figure it out. I need you to lie back down.”

He doesn’t move. He is stone and steel and seconds tick by before his jaw flexes and he says, “He’s walking away.”

Relief washes over me. “Does that mean you’ll lie back down?”

He doesn’t move and I sit down next to him, inspecting his bandage, where blood seeps but is no longer out of control. “I should have bandaged you up sooner,” I murmur, though he’s better now, and I hope that means the GTECH healing process is fighting against the bullet.

“You’re not going to lie down, are you?”

He doesn’t look at me, but I can feel his awareness of me up close and personal, as he says, “Not yet.”

I’m aware of my nearness as well, of how much I have feared such moments with him and craved them as well. “You think he’s coming back,” I say, and it’s not a question. He’s too unwilling to rest to believe anything else.

He glances down at me. “He’s not coming back.” His tone is absolute. “He made a decision to stay the course, until he feels your father out.”

The certainty in him about Brock’s intimate thoughts stuns me. “How do you know this?”

“The wind.”

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