Page 15 of The Secrets Behind Us

“Me too,” I say wistfully. The problem is that I did have that, but I threw it all away.

With a few more margaritas in me, I start to sway along with the music. I’m actually having a great time. These women are all really nice. I learned from talking to them that Ashley is the only one who is married. They get together a few times a week since Simon is always working.

My phone rings while I’m setting up plans with the ladies. I check to see if I can ignore it, but Dexter’s name comes up on my screen. I've kept his number in my phone over the years, not having the strength to get rid of it, but how did he get my number? I've changed it a few times over the years. And even though I know I should be asking him these questions, I don't. Answering immediately, before I can even say hello, I hear him. His voice is filled with agony. “Hazel, I need you.”

“I'm assuming you don't still live with your Dad, send me your address. I’ll be there.” I don't even have to think about it.

The line clicks and I look at my sister who is staring at me. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know. Dexter says he needs me,” I say frantically as my hands tremble. What could be so wrong that he called me? The person that he told just earlier today that he didn't want anything to do with me. My heart drops into my stomach with the idea that it might be really bad.

She doesn’t ask me any other questions, she just grabs her purse, “Let’s go. I’ll take you. I haven’t had anything to drink.”

I think back over the last few hours and realize that she's right. I haven't seen her drink anything other than the water pitcher she insisted we get at the beginning of the night. Why isn't she drinking? Could she be pregnant and not tell me.

My phone pings with his address as we get to the car. Ash puts it in her GPS and we are off. I just hope this isn’t like the last time he needed me.

Chapter ten

Dexter

Iroll over in my bed to put my phone back on my nightstand and sharp pain shoots through my side. Oh shit. I grab my side, wincing and hoping to stop the unrelenting pain. I forgot how much it hurts when you break a rib.

The fight tonight was a shit show. All I wanted to do was burn some energy and feel something besides the ache and love that comes when I see Hazel.

I must’ve been a masochist in another life because I agreed to letting the other fighter win, which meant I had to take the hits. I knew that going in. I expected it to hurt, but shit, this is fucking beyond. And now I’ve invited the one person who has caused me more agony than anyone into my safe place.

I try to take a shallow breath but end up white knuckling the sheets. That’s when I hear a knock on the front door of my apartment. Shit, that’s probably Hazel. In a moment of sheer weakness, I’d called her. She was the first person to come to my mind when I thought about someone helping me and honestly, the only one I wanted to. I probably should’ve thought about it more and called one of my brothers instead, but all I could think about was how much I need and want her close, clouding my mind.

Holding my side, I slowly get up from my bed to make my way across my small apartment. Taking more time than any man would like to admit, I finally make it to the door.

When I open the door, she turns and gasps, looking me over. I’m barely hanging on and she must see it because she quickly moves to my side. “What happened to you?" she asks me, her voice full of concern.

“Had a fight,” I grunt out as I try to move but I don’t get very far.

“Here, let me help you." She loops an arm around my waist. "Do you want to sit on the couch or go to the bedroom?”

“The couch is fine,” I grit out.

With her supporting me as much as she can, we finally make it to the couch and I lay down, trying not to wince from the pain.

Hazel places her purse on the counter and closes the front door. She doesn’t come near me. She just stays standing there in the middle of my living room, her heated gaze looking me up and down.

She looks at my face and her cheeks are red.

I give her a grin and that seems to get her out of whatever trance. She shakes her head, "Have you had any pain medication?" She asks with an even tone, not giving any indication of how she is feeling.

“Not yet.”

“Where can I find it?”

“In my bathroom cabinet.”

With those words, she disappears into my room. A few seconds later, she returns holding a bottle of Ibuprofen in her hand.

“Do you have a glass of water?”

This time I just shake my head. She moves from the doorway and into the small kitchen. I can’t see her from where I’m positioned on the couch, but I can hear the water running. I close my eyes for a few minutes, trying to force my body to relax a bit.

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