Page 87 of Stay for Me

His head snapped up, the brim of his hat hovering over my forehead. “What? What is it?” he demanded, fearful he might’ve just hurt me.

I shook my head. “It feels good,” I whispered, holding his gaze. “Your couch is so soft.”

He said nothing, and outside, the others were arriving. He looked up to the door and then back to me. “They’re going to hover.”

What?

“What? What do you mean?”

He lifted his hand, tucking some of my hair behind my ear, stroking my ear lobe. “All of them. They’ll hover and fuss over you because that’s what you deserve, but the second you get overwhelmed, Diana, tell me,” he pressed. “I’ll send them away.”

I stared at him, his dark eyes, tanned skin, dark furrowed brows, and untrimmed beard making my skin hot. “Why would you need to send them away?” I asked softly.

“Because you endured a trauma, and a crowd of people won’t do anything to help you process it,” he answered, his hand moving to cup my face. I wanted to tell him to stop, that we shouldn’t be doing this after the boundaries we’d set.

But his touch felt too good, the rough skin of his hand, his heat.

I was starved for it.

His thumb swept across my face. “You tell me what you need, and it will be done, yeah?”

You.

I just need you.

The words were on the tip of my tongue, but I quickly swallowed them back down as Denver’s voice cut through air. “You check out her ankle yet?” he barked.

Mags’ eyes shot up, glaring at his boss. “Just got her settled, Kings.”

Denver moved around the couch, looking at me. He was running on fear. I was his friend, someone he cared for deeply, and I’d been hurt—on his ranch. In his smoke gray eyes, all I could see was guilt. “You want me to do it, or do you want Mags—”

“—Mags,” I rasped without thought. “I—I want Mags. Please.”

The weight of my words settled on my shoulders after they left my mouth, but it was too late to take them back. Mags’ hand, which was now on my shoulder, tightened ever so slightly.

Den’s gray eyes flashed as he looked to his cowboy and then back to me. I held his gaze, silently pleading with him. Thankfully, he just nodded, giving in before moving into the kitchen. My eyes followed, hoping like a fool I would be able to have a conversation with him.

Then, the kitchen came into view, the simple L-shaped and butcher block counter tops reminding me of the kitchen in the main house. Instead of green cabinets, though, there were exposed shelves, stacked all the way up to the ceiling, anchored by metal piping. Mags’ dishes, from his dinner plates to his coffee mugs were on display.

Though it was something so simple, I felt as if I was seeing a part of him I’d never seen.

It was just another cold, harsh reminder my love for him was built on a foundation of delusion and hope. I knew nothing about this man, but over the years, in my solitude, I liked to imagine how he would live if he’d ever leave Hallow Ranch. I’d always pictured his home to be simple but rustic. And his dishes—-I expected them to be plain, gray or black.

I stared at the stack of dark blue plates beside Denver’s head.

I guess I’d been wrong.

“Diana.”

I blinked, re-focusing back on Mags, who was now at the other end of the couch, looking down at my boots with a furrowed brow. “Y-yes?”

Mags looked back up to me. “Forgive me,” he murmured, snaking his hand underneath the bottom of my calf, lifting it. My foot hung, and I bit down on the inside of my cheek to stifle the sound. “Scale of one to ten, how much pain?”

“Five,” I pushed out, looking up to ceiling when he flicked open his pocket knife. “Please don’t cut me.” My plea was barely above a whisper, and I wasn’t sure if he’d heard it until he vowed, “Never.”

I dared to look down again, my chin tucked close to my chest as he wiggled the blade underneath my laces, the light from outside reflecting off it. In one, swift pull, he yanked up, cutting them all and I felt relief rush through me. “Oh,” I moaned, closing my eyes. His fingers on the back of my leg flexed as his other hand worked to cut the boot off.

“Is it broken?” This came from Abbie, who appeared by my head, her arms wrapped around her body, her brow pinched with worry. I noticed she was wearing one of Beau’s flannels, her hair braided over her shoulder now. My eyes met hers, and she gave me a flat, pained smile.

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