“Thank you, Rebecca.”
Despite everything between them, especially now, the way he thanked her—the way he said her name—made her face flush hot. Though whether her cheeks burned from embarrassment or pleasure, she couldn’t tell. Maybe a bit of both.
Whatwasthis?
She turned away to hide the blush she couldn’t control. “You’ll be out of here in no time. Just wait.”
“Just one more thing,” he said. “If you’ll allow it.”
She paused, afraid now of what might happen if she stayed here too long with him, alone. Afraid of getting drawn into that connection again, or of losing control completely and forever next time. If there ever was a next time.
But she finally turned back toward him and nodded. “What is it?”
“Would you mind bringing me some water?” He nodded toward the nearly full pitcher on the cabinet counter across the room.
His request seemed so random, even though it wasn’t. Rebecca chuckled and headed straight before the pitcher. “Absolutely.”
She couldn’t deny him that, and he wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t need it.
Right?
She quickly filled a plastic cup for him, listening to the rustle of Maxwell shifting positions in the bed and the soft squeak of the frame beneath his changing weight.
When she turned to face him again, he’d propped himself farther upright against the pillows until he almost sat straight up in bed. Whether the sheets that had been pulled up to his chin when she’d arrived had fallen down off his chest just now or at some point during that kiss she still couldn’t believe was real, Rebecca only now noticed it for the first time.
Dark, splotchy bruises still covered his chest, and a tight bandage wrapped multiple times around his torso where he’d cracked multiple ribs. It seemed a miracle he could even breathe at all.
His injuries had undoubtedly been so much worse in the beginning, but she’d helped put the worst of it right again, hadn’t she?
She’d taken two steps toward his bed before her gaze fell on the dark patch of skin on his upper right pectoral muscle. Theshape she’d thought she’d seen only in the semi-darkness when the shifter had found other excuses to walk around shirtless.
This time, though, beneath the infirmary’s bright lights and with nothing else around to play tricks on her mind, Rebecca saw the mark on his chest clearly and without impediment.
The plastic cup slipped from her fingers and toppled to the floor with a thunk and echoing clatter, splashing water all over her feet and calves.
The interruption made her jump, ripping her back to the present before she looked down at the empty cup on the floor and stepped out of the spilled puddle.
“Shit,” she murmured breathlessly. “Sorry. I wasn’t paying attention. Let me fill this up again.”
How the hell had her voice not been shaking after that?
She scooped up the cup, hurried back to the counter, and filled it again in a rush.
This time, she made it back to Maxwell’s bedside with his water intact and handed it to him, summoning every ounce of willpower not to look at his chest in the light. Or ever.
“Thank you.” He took his water but was already frowning at her, as if he could see right through her and into everything in her head at this moment.
“No problem. Now get more rest, okay? That’s the only thing you should worry about now. I’ll check on you again later.”
She spun around to head for the door, wanting nothing more than to get out of this room so she could stop pretending she wasn’t losing her mind.
“Rebecca.”
Blue Hells. She’d be hopeless against him if he kept calling her by name like that.
She looked at him over her shoulder. “Yeah?”
Maxwell looked her up and down as he set his water on the rolling tray serving as a nightstand beside his bed. “What’s wrong?”