Page 288 of Branded
Matt huffed out a sigh, reached between us to snatch up the plate, muttering to himself as he strode across the kitchen and dropped it into the sink. The water went on. The muttering continued, but then Jules wavered slightly, and I moved close to her again, slipping an arm around her waist, tugging her back against my chest. “She needs to get home and sleep.”
The officer’s eyes hit mine before drifting up and over my shoulder, no doubt going to Matt’s—who was still muttering, though this time it was punctuated by the sound of the water going on and off, the plate clanking into the dishwasher, the ramekin joining it.
Not happy I was here.
Not happy I was touching Jules.
Well, the other man was going to have to fuck right off.
I tugged Jules a little closer when she trembled. “She can take your card and call you if she remembers anything else.”
Silence.
Another glance over my shoulder.
Then back to me after a long moment. “I’ll run with this,” he told Jules, “and then be back in touch with you soon.”
“Okay,” Jules whispered.
Goodbyes were exchanged and then Matt and the cop left the kitchen, the door swinging shut behind them.
I shifted, used the bandages I’d laid out earlier from the kit and gently smeared antibiotic cream on her skin before I covered the cuts with the Band-Aids then gently wrapped her arm in gauze to keep everything in place and protected.
A kiss to the inside of her elbow.
A silent apology.
She was shaking slightly, fatigue clouding her eyes, so I kissed that swathe of silken skin again before straightening. “Let’s get you home.”
“Right.” A breath.
More trembling and…fuck it.
I swept her up into my arms, holding her against my chest, hating that she was shaking, despising the lines of exhaustion on her face, furious at the dark circles beneath her eyes. My fault they were getting worse. Her fault for allowing them to get bad in the first place.
“I can?—”
I pushed out the swinging door, carried her down the hall and into the staff room. “Where’s your stuff?” I asked.
“I’m fine, Cas,” she said, pushing at my chest—something I might have listened to if not for the fact that she was shaking so hard that her teeth were clacking together, if not for the fact that her shove against me was weaker than a fucking feather trying to shove back an elephant.
“Where’s your stuff?” I repeated.
Her stare to mine, eyes assessing.
Then she sighed, probably understanding that there wasn’t any assessing that would change the fact that I was going to see her home.
Not her arguments.
Not Matt.
Not the late hour.
I was going to get her safe and then I’d torture myself with all the fucked-up shit that Chelsea could have done to Jules. Then tomorrow, I was going to get my lawyer on making sure that Chelsea stopped fucking around with Jules, and I didn’t care how nasty I had to get.
After a long standoff, Jules sighed and pointed to a row of lockers. “Mine’s on the end.”
I walked there, glanced from the lock and back up to Jules’s eyes, lifting a brow.
