Page 21 of He is… Creed: Part Two

I blink incredulously. “We’re inside the building.”

“It’s here. It’s almost impossible to keep it away.”

“Through the windows?”

“Yes. Windows. Doors. It’s here, Addie.”

“And it talks to you.”

“You know it does.”

“But not like it does the others.”

“Not like it does the others,” he confirms. “Does that scare you?”

“Everything about you should scare me at this point, Creed.”

“And yet here you sit?”

“You came to me.”

“You didn’t kick me out.”

“You’re injured. You could die.”

“I’m not going to die. That would mean I was done with you, Addie, and I’m not done with you. Not even close.”

My defenses bristle. “You already decided you were done when you walked away.”

There’s a knock on the door and eager for escape I pop to my feet. Creed catches my hand. “I was never done with you, Addie. Never.”

Another knock sounds. “I have to get this and you need medical attention.”

His jaw grits but he releases me.

I hurry toward the door and by the time I’m there, he is as well, flattening against the wall and motioning for me to open the door. He’s better now, already healing and I wonder if he was wrong about the bullet still being inside him. There is hope in this idea, in his ability to fight if he had to, but only a small amount, as he is far from himself.

I hesitate to open the door.

“It’s not Brock,” he promises me. “I’m only here as a precaution.”

I glance up at him, my eyes meeting his, and I know he must see, and feel, the relief his presence brings me. Creed might be bleeding, but he’s still lethal and right now, he’s standing by this door when he shouldn’t be standing at all, to protect me.

It’s confusing and I tell myself it could be all about agendas, but it doesn’t feel like an agenda at all. It feels like the man I love protecting me, and the ease at which I believe that terrifies me. I give him a nod and open the door. A youngish dark-haired man is standing there with my supplies on a cart. “Can I bring this in for you ma’am?” he asks.

“No,” I say quickly. “I can handle it.” I reach for the bottle of booze and a bag of supplies he has for me and set them on the floor in front of Creed. “I just need the towels and I’m all set.”

The man hands them to me, I set them on the floor, and then quickly sign the ticket and fill in the promised tip. He’s giddy when he walks away and I’m quick to shut and lock the door again. It’s only then that I realize Creed’s head is tilted backward and his eyes are shut, blood dripping from his bandage. He’s right. The bullet is still inside him and I don’t know how he’s standing. He’s fighting a losing battle to heal until it comes out.

But deep down, I know he’s just trying to protect me, and it’s a confusing realization.

I step in front of him, and I throw away every barrier that is between us, catching his hand with mine. “Creed,” I whisper urgently. “Come lay down.”

His eyes open. “Bathroom floor. It’ll be easier to hide the bloodbath.”

“There’s already a river of blood on the bed and you’ll be more comfortable.”

“Bathroom,” he insists and he pushes off the wall, grabs one of the bottles and walks that direction.

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