Page 30 of Keep Me

He’s fine.

Turning on my heel, I tiptoe out of the dining room and back toward the stairs, watching for blood or broken glass. My conscience is clear. I helped him, and let’s be honest, he’s lucky I did that much after the way he’s treated me.

It’s clear Killian wants to be alone. And part of being alone and relying on no one is taking the risk of not having anyone around to help him when he needs it. That’s on him.

He obviously doesn’t want me here, so I’ll pretend I’m not here.

If he bleeds out on the dining room floor, then he probably shouldn’t have chosen to be so reclusive and ill-tempered.

I make it almost halfway up the stairs before I stop and squeeze the banister in my grip.

If I wake up in the morning to find him dead, then that’s a whole mess I have to deal with. Not to mention, I doubt I’d see a dime of that money. Being married to him for one day is not the same as being married to him for one year.

I donotcare about Killian Barclay. I don’t.

But I do care about not going to jail and losing ten million dollars. So I spin around on the stairs and walk to the bathroom. Rifling through the cabinet, I find what I’m looking for—gauze, bandages, and antibiotic cream. After shoving them into the pockets of my robe, I grab a washcloth and run it under the warm water of the sink.

Taking them back to where I find Killian positioned exactly as I left him, I pull the chair away and kneel on the floor next to him. Placing his large hand in my lap, I feel a wave of relief when I notice that the bleeding has almost stopped.

Using the wet washcloth, I wipe away as much of the blood as I can. A lot of it has dried against his skin. His hand is heavy in my lap, and I softly stroke each finger, straightening them, just watching them curl back into a relaxed position.

Once the wound is clean, I take the gauze out of my pocket and begin wrapping it firmly around his palm. When it’s covered, I use the bandages to hold it in place. I test my work by squeezing his hand to see if it will bleed through, and he stirs.

“Ugh…” he groans. His head tilts back, and he glares at me through half-closed eyes. “Notyou.”

“I’m helping you,” I reply.

“Fuck you, cow.” His words come out raspy and slurring.

As I finish cleaning up his hand, I feel his drunken gaze on my face, wondering if he sees the hurt in my eyes from his cruel words. I don’t bother arguing with him. I could call him a brute or an asshole or a lazy drunk, but I don’t.

Maybe if I don’t sling back his insults, he’ll see for a moment how hurtful his words are.

The next time I look up at him, his eyes are closed, and his breathing has grown loud as he sleeps.

I swallow down the sting of resentment.

After bandaging his hand, I go to the kitchen and find some towels to clean up the drops of blood on the floor. The cleaners will have to do a better job tomorrow, but I can at least wipe it up now while it’s still wet and hasn’t stained the hardwood.

It takes me a while to wipe up the mess around where he’s still sleeping. Once I’m done with that, I get the spots he dripped from the kitchen. As I clean up the shards of broken glass on the floor, I find the culprit. The entire bottom half of the glass is still intact on the floor, and there is a ring of blood around the top. He must have been holding it when it broke.

After I find the broom, I carefully sweep up the kitchen and discard everything into the trash bin. There is a bottle of antibacterial spray in the cupboard, so I might as well use that while I’mat it. Next thing I know, I’m mopping the entire floor, moving the mop around Killian’s sleeping form.

I don’t even know what time it is by the time I’ve finished cleaning. Killian stirs again. I can hear him groaning while I’m picking up the fallen chair in the living room. When I rush over to see what’s wrong with him, I nearly collide with his giant bare chest.

My hands fly up, my palms pressing against the patch of soft black hair on his chest. He scowls down at me as he sways on his feet.

“Move,” he mutters in a low growl.

“Tryexcuse me,” I reply with attitude.

“Fuck off.”

He attempts to shove me away and stumble past me but quickly loses his balance and goes careening into the wall, hitting it with a loud thud. His face screws up in anguish as he reaches for his shoulder.

I let out a disgruntled sigh. “Let me help you before you kill yourself.”

“Don’t touch me,” he replies, taking another staggering step forward.