Page 62 of Séance

If this is what he has to deal with when in a full-on panic—the complete and utter helplessness—then I owe him an apology. I’m grateful Rue was able to pull him out of his spiral. James is a bitch to keep subdued in a full manic episode, and it usually doesn’t fade for hours or even days. I should be shocked at the ease she was able to handle him, but I’m not.

There is just something special about her, something that I can’t quite figure out. If I didn’t believe in cold, hard facts, I would say she’s pure magic and sunshine.

I drop to my knees next to the pair and take up the task of bandaging her feet. Some of the wounds are so deep, they probably should get stitches. I gather my supplies next to me, grunting at the colossal mess James made of everything, and shake my head as I sort everything out.

I carefully lift her foot, resting it on my thigh, and frown up at her. “I think I should stitch this.”

Stillness settles over the room, the guys behind me going completely motionless.

Rue purses her lips, flexes her foot, then shrugs. “Has the bleeding stopped?”

I nearly swallow my tongue when her toes wiggle so temptingly close to my crotch. The pressure from my jeans feels like a punishment for thinking about her in such a way when she’s injured, but I don’t think anything on this earth would be able to stop my mind from imagining her naked and touching me.

I clear my throat and gruffly answer, “Mostly.”

“Then I’m good.” She drops the subject like it’s no big fucking deal that she has an open gash on the bottom of her foot that’s still bleeding. After walking on it, the wounds have to be throbbing in agony. As if sensing my hesitation, she tilts her head to the side. “I can bandage it if the sight of blood bothers you.”

I’m floored by her earnest offer. She’s the one who is hurt, yet she’s worried about me. I just can’t wrap my brain around it. My parents didn’t even visit me when I had my appendix removed when I was twelve, and yet Rue is worried about my sensibilities.

It boggles my mind.

Afraid of what might come out of my mouth, I just shake my head and work on cleaning the rest of her injuries. I clamp my hand around her ankle, afraid that she might try to do it herself to spare me, then I grab a few packages of gauze, ripping them open with my teeth.

As I lift her foot to apply the gauze, bandages, and tape, I’m distracted by the colorful rainbow nails that decorate her delicate toes. Each nail is a different color, like she couldn’t make up her mind which color would look best, or she was excited and couldn’t wait to try them all.

A smile curls my lips at the thought. I’m utterly fascinated by everything about her. The way her brain works is a complete, wonderful mystery that I’m eager to unravel. Maybe I should be upset that James monopolizes her time, but surprisingly, I don’t feel slighted. He needs her more than I do right now. While I miss having her in my arms, I’m content just to be close, the feel of her skin under my palms easing the worst of my withdrawal.

I snatch a pillow off the couch, set it at the edge of the table, then prop up her foot. James doesn’t move once. He’s out, a slight snore escaping him with every breath, and I’m not sure I remember the last time I saw him sleep.

Treating him like a baby that you don’t dare disturb, I move quietly to her other side. The bottom of her left foot isn’t as damaged, the scratches not nearly as deep, but there are more of them. “Where the hell did you take her? Her feet are a mess.”

I don’t wait for an answer, just go about cleaning and bandaging the wounds.

“We went to the quarry,” Hicks admits sheepishly.

My temper gets the better of me, and I cut him off with a glare. “That place is riddled with broken bottles and dirty needles. What the fuck were you thinking?”

Hicks scowls, quick to defend himself. “Gunner called Rue?—”

“No, I didn’t. I would never expose her to that cesspool.” Gunner stirs from the couch, then grimaces, looking at us like we’re morons for even suggesting it. Despite the beating he took, his attention is glued on Rue, as if he needs to confirm for himself that she’s okay.

“She said Gunner was in trouble,” Hicks mumbles almost to himself, the furrow between his brows deepening with every second.

It’s not an accusation, but it might as well have been for the way Rue stiffens and tries to pull away. I slip my hand around her ankle to hold her still. I’m done with her injuries, but my gut clenches at the thought of her pulling away from us.

“Gunner needed help, so we went.” Rue shrugs, her eyes lowered as she runs her fingers through James’ hair like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world. “End of story.”

Jameson’s eyes crack open to slits—either waking from the sharp tone of her voice or the tension thrumming through her petite frame. Murder glints in his pale blue eyes, a silent demand that I back the fuck off, and I grit my teeth in frustration.

Before anyone can probe for more answers, a stubborn glint enters her eyes, and Rue turns to glare at Gunner. “I’m not somefragile flower you have to protect. You think a few people beating the shit out of each other would bother me?”

She actually looks offended at the idea, a snarl curling her lips, and it’s the cutest fucking expression ever. My heart does a weird gallop in my chest.

Rue crosses her arms, lifting her chin until her cute little nose is in the air. “You needed help. Why wouldn’t I go? I may look weak, but I can assure you that I’m not.”

Her expression is so earnest and offended that I have to squash my smile. She’s honestly confused why it was a bad idea to bring her to a place so dangerous that most people would think twice about entering without being armed to the teeth.

“No, you’re not weak,” I murmur, and my chest puffs up when she looks slightly appeased. I mentally roll my eyes at myself. I pride myself on being a rational being, but there is just something about her that makes me react like a boy with his first crush.

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