Page 61 of The Pucking Wrong Man

Like that girl...who’d just left me here.

Struggling to my feet, bile throbbed through my throat as the room dipped and swayed around me, and I had to stay on my knees as I tried to get my bearings. Something wet was sliding down my face, and I winced when I reached up and felt the gash right above my eyebrow. Examining my hand, I stared in horror at all the blood. The metallic scent filled my nostrils as I breathed. Head wounds bled a lot, right? So I probably only had a minor concussion.

Taking a deep breath, I heaved myself to my feet, staggering over to the sink so I could try and wash the blood off my face and get back to my cot.

Fuck. I looked like an extra in a zombie movie.

My white-blonde hair was matted, stained pink from the wound. Blood was smeared across my forehead where the cut was, and had trickled down my neck.

Stumbling, I turned on the tap. The water sputtered out, icy and stinging. I splashed it on my face, scrubbing at the dried blood with shaking hands. The pain in my head flared, but I gritted my teeth and kept going. I didn’t have time to be gentle.

“Come on, come on,” I muttered to myself, scrubbing harder. The water ran pink, swirling down the drain. I grabbed a wad of paper towels and pressed it to my forehead, hoping to slow the bleeding. It wasn’t perfect, but it would have to do.

I looked at myself again. Still a mess, but at least now I was a slightly more presentable mess. I splashed water on my hair, trying to rinse out the worst of the blood. The dizziness was still there, a constant, nagging presence, but I forced myself to stand straight.

The lights had already been dimmed when I made it out of the bathroom, my legs wobbling beneath me. I kept my head down as I limped to my cot, not wanting to draw any attention as I passed rows and rows full of sleeping women and children. A gray-haired woman with a scar across her cheek lifted her head up as I passed, staring at me with vacant eyes. A lifetime later, I sank onto it, pulling the thin blanket around me, trying to steady my breathing. The pain in my head pulsed, but at least I was out of that bathroom.

My eyes were closing almost immediately—a sure sign I should be keeping myself awake because I knew you weren’t supposed to sleep for a few hours after a head injury. The darkness behind my eyelids was a relief I wasn’t going to fight tonight, though. Concussion or not.

Tomorrow, I would deal with everything.

Or maybe I wouldn’t wake up.

Maybe it would be nice to not be in pain. I’d never see Camden again, though. A pang hit my heart at that thought.

I tried to be brave and positive every single day, promising myself things would get better. Tonight, though, I'd forgotten how to be either.

Camden

I practically burst through the front door of Charlie’s, pissed that her shift had started an hour ago, and I was just now getting here because of practice. The scent of frying oil and coffee mingled in the air. A few people stared at me from their dinner plates. I must not have looked as crazy as I felt because they soon turned their attention away.

It felt like I was barely keeping my life together at the moment.

Turns out stalking was a full-time job and being a professional hockey player was definitely getting in the way of it.

Where was she?

I ducked into the hallway leading to the restrooms, pretending like I was going to go to the men’s room, when really I just wanted to peek into the back scullery area and catch a glimpse of her.

When had it gotten to where I couldn’t breathe without her? Every time she was out of my sight, I worried and stressed. I still didn't even know why she was living under the circumstances she was, but I did know I wanted to take her away and treat her like a princess. I just needed her to let me do that. Somehow.

She wasn’t in there, and I frowned, my heartbeat thumping strangely in my chest. She was working tonight, right? If she was already in the shelter and I couldn’t get inside to see her...I was going to lose my fucking mind.

At least a little more than I already had.

Striding back out to the dining room, I glanced around, a weird fluttering feeling taking off in my chest when I saw her bent over a table on the far side of the room, wiping it down.

Anastasia grabbed the spray bottle and stood up, anticipation growing in my gut as she began to turn around.

What. The. Fuck.

I was having trouble breathing as I stared at her.

Her face was a mess. A dark bruise shadowed one eye, and a fresh gash marred her forehead. Her white-blonde hair, usually bright and clean, was limp and bedraggled. She looked completely worn down, every bit of her energy and light sapped away. Anastasia started walking back across the dining room, headed for the hallway I’d just come from, clearly not having noticed me yet.

I practically lunged across the room.

“Anastasia,” I called softly, a tremble in my voice as I tried not to startle her. Anger was bubbling in my chest, and my hands ached to destroy whoever or whatever had done this to her.

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