Page 117 of From West, With Regret

It’s been five days since the accident, and it’s going to take years to recover from the distress of it all. I may have been spared from Heath’s attempts to kill me, but I know my injuries are nothing compared to what Heath suffered: death.

Over the past few nights, I’ve had nightmares about that night.

Seeing Heath disappear right in front of my very eyes. His body disintegrating before me. The shrill sound of London’s screams. What I thought was her lifeless body lying on the floorof the storage closet. The hollow sensation that immediately filled my chest thinking I’d lost her for good, and by the hands of my adoptive brother—the one who faked his own death. I’ve tried to wrap my head around the lengths Heath must have gone to to fake his own death. The people he must have paid in exchange for their silence. The helicopter pilot who lost his life was merely collateral damage.

All of it has weighed heavily on me these past few days, and I know it’s done the same for London, even if she hasn’t told me as much out loud.

Like all traumas, it’s something I know will take time to heal.

For now, I try to focus on the good.

I take comfort in knowing I have London, and that we’re safe.She’ssafe.

Every cut, bruise, and broken bone was worth protecting her for. And being here with her, with every memory of me alive in her mind, was worth all the pain it took to get here.

“Oh, wow.” London giggles, covering her mouth with her delicate hand. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh.”

“Oh, yeah?” I pop an eyebrow.

“Yes.” She laughs again, tucking her bottom lip under her teeth as she reaches out and touches my arm. “I really don’t mean to.” She tries to hide her grin. “I mean, it’s only temporary, right?”

I sigh, pressing my lips together as I look down at the large, black boot on my left leg. I’m thankful to finally be going home today, but I wish I didn’t have to leave with this monstrosity on my leg.

“They say I have to keep it on for a few weeks,” I mutter, resting the heel on the faded tile of my hospital room. “Which means no working at the bars and a lot of desk work.”

I hate the idea of not working. Behind the bar, at least. Mylife and businesses have been put on hold. The Veiled Door has officially become a crime scene, and from what everyone has told me, the police have just released it back to me this morning, completing their investigation. Considering there were hundreds of witnesses to Heath’s sudden death, and the toxicology report found an incredibly high level of drugs and alcohol in his system, they concluded there was no foul play. Heath died from an unfortunate set of choices and circumstances.

Aside from the disruption to business, I worry about London. I don’t doubt her resiliency, but I wonder how much this will affect her. If it has, she hasn’t shown it yet.

I look back up at her. She’s stunning, standing in front of me with her black sweatpants and faded gray T-shirt. They cling to all my favorite parts of her.

My dick twitches, aching for her touch.

“Come here.” I growl, hooking my fingers under the hem of her T-shirt. I tug her forward until her legs slip between mine. She looks down at me, raking her fingers through my hair before she leans down, her mouth hovering over mine.

“No strenuous activity for six weeks, Mr. Knight,” she whispers. “Doctor’s orders.”

I chuckle, lifting my mouth into a smirk, biting back the echo of pain in my side. “If you think I’m going to take orders from a doctor?—”

“Don’t,” she stops me, lifting her finger to my lips, shutting me up. “Don’t finish that sentence.”

She isn’t helping matters.

I wrap my arms around her waist, slamming the front of her thighs against my swelling cock, showing her exactly what she’s doing to me.

“You are the worst when it comes to listening to instructions. You could aggravate your injuries and then we’ll end upright back here.” She gives me a quick kiss, but I don’t miss how she rubs her legs against me. Her smile widens, her dimples deepening.

Such a little tease.

“The doctor didn’t say anything about you, though, did he, Dimples?” I palm her sweet pussy. She’s warm and, fuck me, what I wouldn’t give to be able to sink my cock into her flesh.

“No,” she breathes, rolling her hips and rubbing against my hand. “Not here.” She pushes away, stumbling over her own feet, trying to put some distance between us. Her cheeks are blushed a faint red, and I bite back a laugh.

“Oh, fine,” I grumble. “Well, let’s get home, so we can get this going.” She snaps her head in my direction, and this time, I let out my laughter. “I mean to get going with my healing. Well, and you. I want to finish what we’ve started here. On your end of course.”

My heart turns to molten mush around my girl. I may not be able to have sex, but watching her react to my touch in all the best ways is satisfying enough. For six weeks, at least. Thank fuck it isn’t forever.

“Okay.” She walks toward me again with a smile.

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