Page 102 of Wine & Whiskey
Yet again, Carrie has the worst possible timing. She smirks in the doorway, holding a vase of wildflowers adorned with a green smiley-face balloon.
Shae takes the bouquet from her and inhales deeply. “They’re beautiful.”
“Yeah, I stole them from some guy down the hall while he was in the bathroom. I thought they would cheer this place up.”
Maybe his instincts are off-target. Carrie’s still Carrie, and Shae seems more relaxed than yesterday. “Thanks. I always appreciate receiving used gifts.”
She sticks her tongue out at him. “I picked them up at the gift shop downstairs. You seem like a balloon kind of guy.” She gives Shae a long hug, whispering something in her ear he can’t make out. A slight frown crosses Shae’s face before she nods, and Carrie steps back. “Have you talked to Gail?”
Shae shakes her head. “No, I haven’t checked my phone since I’ve been back. Do I even want to know?”
“Yeah, it’s good news. Your movie opened at number one. In addition to a pop star, you’re officially a movie star now too.”
“I don’t think two supporting roles make me a movie star.”
“Well, you’re on your way.” Carrie winks at Nick. “I hope you appreciate how lucky we are she associates with us now that she’s conquered Hollywood too.”
“Believe me, I do.”
Carrie waves her fingers toward Shae. “I’m going to meet Nathan for a quick breakfast. I’ll be back, and we can talk.”
After she walks out, Shae puts the flowers on the windowsill and unties the string. “Carrie will get a kick out of seeing this on your bed when she gets back.”
“Congratulations, sweetness. I’m happy for you about the movie. You’ve worked hard, and you deserve it.”
Her shoulders shrug in modesty, but her bright smile makes his pulse race. God, he’s fucking missed her. “I’m just lucky to have the opportunity.”
She leans over him and circles the ribbon around the side rail. The twitch in his groin increases to a tremor with her sweet body draped across his. “Now, I’ve never really been an ass man, but this I like.” He pats her bottom and strokes down her thigh, reaching under her dress.
She shivers, and the string glides through her fingers. “You’re in the hospital and need to keep your hands to yourself.” She giggles and swats at him before reaching up to grab the balloon.
Dark spots dance in front of his eyes, mirroring the black and blue welts dotting her exposed wrist. His jaw clenches so tight he can barely force the words out. “What happened to your arm?”
Yanking down her sleeve, she steps back from the bed. Her eyes are huge with fear as they stare at each other. The hum of the air conditioning is the only sound in the room while the balloon drifts upward, bouncing a few times against the ceiling before gliding toward the window.
“I’m fine. It was an accident.”
He anchors her trembling arm against his stomach and pushes back the other sleeve revealing the same sickening pattern. Bile burns his throat at the faint outline of a handprint marring her delicate, ivory skin. “Son of a bitch! Who did this to you?”
She slides the fabric down and stares at the floor. Every nerve in his body flames with fury, his head pounding behind his eyes from the rage roaring through him. “Who hurt you?”
She shakes her head.
Not again. Not this time. There’s no way in hell he’ll let her protect the bastard who put his hands on her. “Damn it! Tell me who did this to you!”
Tears roll down her pale cheeks as she whispers, “You.”
A single word validates the guilt nagging his subconscious since he woke up.
He’s the bastard.
On wobbly legs, he races to the bathroom, barely making it before the vomiting begins.
One hand wraps around the safety bar while the other grips the sink edge as he leans over the toilet. With the contents of his stomach long gone, he continues to dry heave, unable to stop his body’s reaction to what he’s done. He jerks away from Shae’s gentle touch on his back, refusing to accept any comfort from her after the injuries she’s received from him.
Once the retching stops, he collapses against the metal sink. A high-pitched squeal echoes off the walls of the tiny bathroom under its strain of supporting his weight. He splashes cold water on his face and grabs the mouthwash, trying to rinse away the taste of repulsion. The harsh solution mixes with the bile burning his throat, shooting fire through his mouth. Yet, the irritation is much too meager a punishment for his offense.
Weakness finally overcomes his unsteady legs, and he drops to his knees. His bare skin stings from the cold tile, but he can’t force himself to move. He can’t do anything but try to comprehend what could have happened to make him put his hands on the woman he loves.
