Page 33 of Trick

I do. I’m not green, but it doesn’t change the facts.

I stare at him, trying not to let my emotions choke me. “This is fucked-up, Trick,” I whisper. “They could’ve killed you.”

“Heidi, stop.” I clamp my mouth shut. “This needed to happen. It won’t fix things, but it’ll sure as fuck go a long way to rebuilding some bridges.”

Right. Bridges.

I’d happily set those bridges alight if it stopped him doing reckless and dangerous shit like this. “Do you honestly think this is going to change anything? Getting beaten won’t erase what happened, Trick.”

There’s a beat of silence before he asks, “You worried about me?”

That’s not what I expect him to say, and it riles me.

“Of course, I’m fucking worried about you. Look at the state of you.”

“Bruises heal, Heidi.”

Not all bruises.

I sit on the edge of the bed, trying to keep calm. “Do they even care about the fact they might’ve killed you with this little stunt?” I mutter under my breath while I place what I need on the duvet. The doctor did a good job patching him up—at least to my untrained eye—but there’s blood in his hairline and staining around his beard. I don’t want to leave him dirty.

“They weren’t going to kill me, Heidi.” His words are sluggish and slurred. I’m hoping that’s an effect of whatever drugs the doctor gave him and not a sign of something wrong inside his body.

My gut twists into a knot as I take in his injuries. “Sophia only just got you back. You’re all she has. Did they even think about that?”

“Nothing’s gonna happen to me, and I’m not all she has. She has you, too,” he says.

Warmth spreads through my chest, and I have to swallow down my emotions. I grab his chin, twisting his head to examine the injuries on his face so I don’t lose it. He doesn’t say a word as I clean the dried blood away.

“You have to make better decisions, Trick. It’s not just you to consider anymore.” His recklessness pisses me off for this reason.

“That’s why I did this, Heidi. I need to make things safe for my daughter, and I can’t do that while the club doesn’t fucking trust me.”

I stare down at my hands clutching the bloodied gauze. This can’t be the future for us. “I hate it.”

“I know, but it won’t always be this way.”

I hope he’s right, that someday we can have peace—for Sophia’s sake, for all the kids—but I get the feeling there will be more casualties, more caskets lowered into dark graves before it’s over.

He winces, his eyes closing as he holds his bruised side. His heavy lids want to close, but he seems to push through the drug haze to focus on me. “I talked to Howler about Crow’s memorial.”

“This isn’t really the time to talk about that,” I mutter.

“He agreed not to have it this year,” he says, as if I didn’t speak.

Relief floods me. I didn’t think he would really do what I’d asked. “Thank you.”

“He was curious as to why, though.”

I’ll bet he was. “What did you tell him?”

“That it’s too hard for you.”

Howler would believe that. I’ve been vocal about the club’s responsibility for Theo’s death for a long time now. They were responsible for a lot of things.

His fingers brush over my hand and my skin heats instantly. My heart leaps into my throat. When was the last time someone touched me in kindness or with affection? Tears clog my eyes, and I try everything to hold them at bay, but I can’t.

“I don’t think that’s the reason you don’t want it, though,” he says, and I realise my mistake.

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