Page 29 of Keep Me

My heart hammers in my chest as I listen for another sound. In the distance, I hear a string of curses, mumbled and slurred. Then another loudthunkthat sounds like furniture falling over.

The sounds are growing distant, which is a good sign.

When I don’t hear anything for a while, I sit back in the bathtub and try to relax again. Maybe he fell down the stairs andcracked his head open. If he bleeds to death, do I still get my money?

Or go to jail for murder?

Yeah, definitely the latter. There’s no way they wouldn’t suspect me of killing him if ten mill was on the line.

“Shit,” I whisper to myself. I really, really don’t want to go down there. But if he is seriously hurt, that could come back on me.

“Stupid fucking Scottish asshole,” I mutter to myself as I climb angrily out of the tub, water sloshing to the floor. Grabbing the towel, I wrap it around me and quickly dry off before snatching the fluffy white robe from the hook.

Just as I tighten the belt of the robe around my waist, I open my bedroom door—which was unlocked. The round glass table on the second-floor landing is covered in water, and the large ornate vase knocked over and cracked down the middle.

Fresh-cut red roses are scattered all over the table and floor. I pick one up and set it on the surface before glancing around for Killian. If I can at least get some confirmation that he’s alive and not bleeding to death, I can go back to bed and lock my door this time.

“Killian,” I call in a flat, unamused tone.

He doesn’t answer.

I tiptoe down the stairs. Reaching the front of the house, I turn first toward the living room in search of him there, thinking he might want to watch TV down here. But it’s empty. There’s an unopened bottle of whisky on the floor by the bar, and one of the upholstered green chairs is tipped on its side. That must have been the sound I heard.

When I try the kitchen, I stop and stare in shock. It looks like a tornado swept through the room. Broken glass on the floor. Whisky spilled on the counter. And when I ease in further, I recognize a pattern of red drops on the floor leading to the dining room.

He’s bleeding.

“Fuck,” I whisper.

As I turn the corner into the dining room, I let out a shriek when I spot Killian slumped over on the floor with his back against the wall, and his legs extended out in front of him. He’s in nothing more than a pair of tight black boxer briefs. His long hair hangs forward, draped over his face.

My eyes catch on the muscles of his shoulders and the patch of dark hair on his chest that leads down over his stomach and into his boxers.

Leaning against the wall with a half-empty glass of whisky in his hand, he looks passed out cold.

Standing in my bathrobe, I stare down at him for well over a minute. When I see movement in his chest and shoulders, I breathe a sigh of relief. There’s still no sign of where the blood came from. He didn’t step in broken glass.

Inching forward, I lift his hair enough to inspect if the blood is from a head wound. Luckily, it’s not.

Lifting up his left hand, I first see the gold band on his ring finger. The sight of it feels like a bucket of ice water being poured over me.

Iput that ring there. He’smyhusband.

I have a matching one on my hand now.

When I flip over his hand to inspect his palm, I find the source of the blood. There is a long clean slice over his entire hand. Blood seeps freely from the wound, pooling on the floor.

My first thought is…Can someone bleed out from a hand wound?Eventually, his blood would clot and stop him from dying, right?

Even with that much alcohol in his system though? Doesn’t it thin the blood?

Maybe if I just elevate it? I could grab a chair from the dining table and rest his arm on it to help stop the bleeding.

This is his problem. I mean…three days ago, I wouldn’t have even been here to help him.

I could have been sleeping upstairs in my room, so really I’m not at fault if I don’t do anything. He chose to drink too much. He chose to be a clumsy, reckless idiot.

With a sigh, I stand up. Grabbing a chair, I pull up next to him and lift his arm so it’s propped up. Blood still drips from the gash but not as steadily.

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