Page 23 of Blue

“Good.” She took one of the bags from my hands. “You can go up, but I wasn’t sure if you knew what to expect. She’s not really talkative. She hurts everywhere, and she has a headache. The girl is just riding it out. She hasn’t asked for anything—except you.”

Jazzy was right behind me as I took the steps two at a time.

Inside the apartment, Kiss curled into the corner of the couch with a blanket over her. A soft smile curved her mouth. This girl. All I wanted to do was chase the fear from her eyes.

I sat next to her. I didn’t need to ask her how she felt. Dark circles smudged under her eyes. Her lips were pale, and her blue eyes drained to a soft gray. I set the bag on the floor.

Jazzy finished putting the drinks in the fridge, then brought one to Kiss. “I can give you a minute alone,” she said. “I’ll go make my dad a tuna sandwich. Do you want one?”

Kiss shook her head.

“We’re good,” I said. “Thanks, Jazzy.”

She left, and Kiss released a heavy exhale. “Why is it harder this time? I can’t stop thinking about black. My head hurts, every muscle in my body hurts, and I’m sick.”

“Tell me what you need.”

She lowered her head. “Will you hold me?”

Jesus, the soft tone of her voice seeped into my chest and squeezed. “Yeah.” I tugged the laces on my boots, yanked them off, and then stood to take off my cut. Kiss scooted back into the couch to make room for me, but she seemed to flinch from the effort. “Change your shirt. I’m not snuggling up to Rogue.”

“I don’t have anything else.”

As she spoke, I pulled a pink oversized T-shirt from the bag. “I got you some stuff.”

She sat up. “You didn’t have to.”

“You’re not wearing Rogue’s clothes.” I didn’t want her in Jazzy’s clothes either. Call me an ass. I didn’t care. Jazzy had her style, and it didn’t fit Kiss.

Kiss was jeans and tight T-shirts. Inked and pierced, Jazzy liked to show skin. She was a patched member of the MC. When hit, she hit back harder.

With Kiss, she would fight but fear every punch. The hits, both those she’d been given and those she’d taken, had left scars. Drugs gave her a way to cover them.

I handed her the bag. She sifted through the items. Another shirt, a pair of shorts. Her gaze snapped up. “You bought me granny panties?” She held up the package.

“I wanted you to be comfortable.”

Her eyes brightened, and she covered her mouth with her hand as a laugh bubbled out of her.

I snatched the underwear from her and shoved them back into the bag. “I’ll give them to Jazzy for Christmas.”

“I’ll wear them. I just didn’t take you for a granny panties guy. Do you wear tighty whities?”

I dug in the bag and grabbed a small box. The prepaid flip phone was cheap, but it had unlimited talk and text and a small amount of data. “Not since I was a kid,” I said about her question of my underwear. “And they weren’t white.” I handed her the phone. “They had Batman on them.”

“I bet you were cute as a kid.” Her brows pinched. “You shouldn’t have gotten me a phone. I sold the last one.”

“Yeah, well, this isn’t a smart phone. You’d only get ten bucks for it.” I laughed. “As for being a cute kid? Nah, I was a terror, and you still need to change the shirt. I can step outside to give you privacy.”

Her chuckle turned to silence. “I…I…”

“Or I can just turn around.” I gave her my back.

“I’ll need help.”

I glanced over my shoulder.

She held the shirt in her lap. “It hurts to move.”

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