Page 36 of Fractured Vows

Doc is scary as hell. Even getting to know him better and seeing a little of the lighter side of him, I’d be lying if I said he didn’t still intimidate me.

Another grunt.

He’s mad, which is hardly surprising seeing as not only am I hurt, but I was hurt on a night out that I not only wasn’t supposed to be on but also failed to inform him of.

Which begs the question, how the hell did he find me?

I’m gently lowered onto soft leather, and a belt is wrapped around my waist.

“Look, don’t take this the wrong way, but I would be a shitty friend if I didn’t ask. Can you show me some kind of proof you’re married? I’d never be able to live with myself if I let you take her and then she turns up in a ditch somewhere.”

A gruff laugh follows, and if I were able, it would bring a smile to my lips.

Doc’s laughs are few and far between, but there’s something about them that makes me smile, and I’m a little disappointed I missed this one because I have no idea when I’ll get to hear it again.

There’s silence for a few seconds before he says, “You’re a good friend, Bella.”

“Wow, you both look incredible!” Bella whistles. “Can you get her to text me when she’s awake and let me know how she is? I feel terrible that she’s been hurt on our first night out.”

“Will do.” The door shuts and cuts me off from their conversation.

Silence surrounds me and my mind drags me under again, forcing me back into a dreamless sleep I couldn’t fight even if I wanted to.

Sometime later, I’m suddenly aware of the feeling of floating again, and the loud, rhythmic banging that makes my head want to explode.

God, what the hell is that?

Doc curses as he rearranges me in his arms, and the sound of a key in a lock tips me off to where I am.

We’re home.

The thought startles me as I realize it’s the first time I’ve come to think of the apartment as home, and I find that I don’t hate the idea. I don’t hate it in Chicago nearly as much as I thought I was going to. I’ve made a friend, I’m fumbling my way through school, and Doc and I have found some kind of weird normal.

Admittedly, that normal is completely ignoring one another, but hey, it’s better than sniping at each other all day every day. It could be worse.

I expect to be placed on the bed, or even in the living room, but the last thing I expect is to hear running water.

Is that the bath?

I’m carefully lowered toward the ground, but I never leave Doc’s arms, and I’m not too proud to admit I kinda like it here. It’s warm, and it smells good, and even if the man is prickly and sometimes mean, I know I’m safe here.

After all, everything Doc has done is to keep me safe, including marrying a perfect stranger half his age.

“I need you to open your eyes for me, spitfire.” His hoarse voice breaks the silence, and I long to do as he’s asked. I’vealready disappointed him tonight, the last thing I want to do is do it again.

But my lids are too heavy, the haze at the front of my mind too thick.

A warm palm settles against my cheek, and I lean into it. Or at least I think I do. The line between reality and unconsciousness is a little blurry right now.

“Isla, open those pretty eyes for me. I need to make sure you’re okay before we get you cleaned up.”

I try to force myself past the groggy haze, allowing his warmth and the security he offers to pull me through.

I’m thankful when I realize the light is off, with only the glow of the bedroom lights filtering around us. My head is extra appreciative of that, but my eyes are still so heavy and it’s a struggle to keep them open.

Doc seems to let out a breath of relief, but there’s a chance I imagined it, so I decide not to fixate on it. “There she is.”

I groan and allow my eyes to drift shut again, unable to fight against the heaviness.

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