Page 153 of Captive Omega

Blaine makes it sound like Sadie operated on him and left bloody saws behind.

She did not.

“Of course, silly me,” Sadie says after a rapid glance at me. She wheels the metal tray out, flashing me an apologetic smile as she leaves. Clearly, she knows exactly why Blaine would want it gone, and it’s not because he’s squeamish about blood like he made it sound.

I scrutinize Blaine for a beat. “You did that because you knew it bothered me.”

A statement. Not a question. Fact.

“Takes one to know one,” he says.

I blink at him, curious. “I don’t understand.”

He gestures at the room. It’s your standard white hospital room with nothing in it but a hospital bed, a medium-sized TV hanging on the wall opposite, and white blinds covering the one window.

“I’m the same way anywhere I’m in a place that resembles a hospital. You were trying not to notice the trolley. I was trying not to notice the fact we’re in a clinic.”

Drawn by his wry tone, I drift closer to his side. “And how has that worked out for you?”

He snorts. “Surprisingly, not that well.”

My eyes dip to his chest. “Because of the pain?”

“Because of the car crash,” he says quietly as his gaze settles on the ceiling.

He doesn’t speak again and neither do I.

Seconds, then minutes, pass, and as I watch him, he grows more tense. He’s supposed to be here for fifteen minutes and he doesn’t look like he can make it to the next five. If that trolley had still been in the room with us, I would find any excuse to leave. But Blaine can’t leave until Sadie confirms he’s okay.

As his chest rises and falls, his left hand, the one closest to me, plucks at the pale blue sheet. Even if he could close his eyes and pretend he was elsewhere, there’s no escaping the sharp bite of antiseptic in the air.

Watching him, I do something I didn’t do back at the house. I use my brain.

I also take his hand.

His eyes fly to mine.

He doesn’t like to be touched, Resa. What the fuck are you doing?

I immediately drop his hand. “Sorry. I?—”

“No,” he says in a rush before I can run out of the room. “It’s okay.”

We study each other for a beat.

Something brushes the back of my right thumb, and I look down. Blaine has moved his hand closer to mine. He’s no longer plucking at the sheets, just resting it on the bed, palm side up.

“It’s okay. It helps.”

After a moment, I take his hand again, and this time, he’s the one who closes it lightly around mine.

I look out of the window. “Thanks for last night.”

There’s a reason I couldn’t bring myself to stab Blaine. My subconscious must have put together the pieces before I did.

No man who built me a nest, or made himself uncomfortable by giving me self-defense lessons when they don’t like to be touched, and agreed to be my bodyguard after I nearly stabbed him would sneak into my room to hurt me.

“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” he says.

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