Page 51 of Changing the Play

I almost laugh, but he’s really worked up about this. “Okay,” I say, trying to soothe the jagged edges of his anger. “That’s fine.”

“And no date tonight,” he continues. “I can’t. I just… I can’t. I need to wrap you up in my bed and keep you there tonight, where I know you’ll be safe.”

Jesus. He’s too freaking cute. But I also won’t complain about that even a little bit. “That sounds perfect to me.”

He holds me for a few more minutes before stepping back and leading me to the couch. His touch is tender as he cleans me up, but he does have to stop a couple of times to calm himself down before he can continue. “There’s blood on your shirt,” he murmurs, eyes flaring with renewed anger. “I’m going to grab you something to change into. Stay here.”

He presses the ice pack into my hands and I hold it to my jaw as he stands up, rushing quickly from the room like I might disappear if he doesn’t move fast. It’s less than thirty seconds later when he’s back in the living room, helping me out of my shirt and into one of his sweatshirts.

“Let’s go to bed,” he says, gathering the blood-stained clothing and the wash cloth.

“No. Not yet. I’m alright. What were you reading when I came in?”

He watches me for a second before his shoulders slump.“Pride and Prejudice.”

I hum, settling deeper into the couch. “Can you get me an anti-inflammatory and then read to me?”

There’s a slight hesitation and then a jerky nod. Thank God. My entire face is throbbing. Stupid Marcus. I’m pretty sure my assessment that he wants some dick too is spot on. Typical closeted bigot. Ugh.

West steps away and comes back a few minutes later with a glass of water and two pills. I swallow them and sink back onto the couch. “Well, come on, then,” I say, patting the cushion beside me.

West sits down, picking up his book. I can tell he’s still not happy about the events of tonight, but I’m glad he’s calmed down a little bit. “I’ve already read it,” I say, glancing at him. “You can start it wherever you left off.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I’ll start at the beginning.”

I shrug. Whatever he wants. When he gets himself comfortable on the couch, I pull the throw blanket from the back of it down, and squirm around until I can rest my head in his lap. He seems a little confused for a second, but once I’m settled with the blanket wrapped around me, he smiles down at me.

He runs a finger down my non-bruised cheek and sighs. “So fucking beautiful.”

My heart does something wild in my chest. Half-exploding, half-melting, and my breath hitches. He gives me a weak smile, and then he sits back on the couch and opens the book.

His fingers card through my hair, and I close my eyes as he clears his throat. “Okay,” he says softly. I’m thankful for that, since the medicine hasn’t quite kicked in yet and I can feel a massive headache brewing. “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.”

I hum. “Or a himbo quarterback.”

He snorts, his fingers still playing with my hair as he continues reading.

My jaw hurts and my lip is stinging, but I let myself fully relax, listening to the cadence of his voice as he reads. My closed eyes grow heavy and before I know it, his voice is a low murmur I can’t pick any individual words from.

His fingers stray from my hair to my temple, then back to my hair again. I let out a little sigh as I realize howgoodI feel—even with my face pulsing with pain every heartbeat.

I just barely feel the lightest of kisses on my forehead before I’m out like a light.

Chapter 17

Weston

As Darcy’s head grows heavier in my lap, I try to relax with him. It’s an almost impossible task. I’m fucking fuming. Furious. Raging. I was serious when I said I didn’t want him hurt. And now he is. The bruise forming on his jaw and the jagged split in his swollen bottom lip are proof of that.

I can’t fucking believe Marcushithim. He doesn’t know it yet, but that was a fucking mistake. Rage simmers in my blood as I work to keep my voice calm and steady. Darcy’s checked out on me. I’m almost positive he’s half-asleep, but I’m worried if I stop reading, I’ll lose it.

The only thing keeping me from flying off the handle is his soothing weight and the feel of his hair under my fingers. And eventhat’sbarely doing it. My jaw is aching from how hard I was clenching it.

When he lets out a little sigh, I pause, leaning over to kiss his forehead. He hums under his breath, and I sit up, breathing deeply a couple of times before I go back to rubbing his hair.

By the time I’m done with the third chapter, he’s gone to the world, so I set the book down and study him for a second.He’s safe.I know that. He’s curled up in my lap, his face pressing into my thigh, in my hoodie, wrapped up in my blanket, but it’s not helping.

Nothing is helping.

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