Page 76 of Man of Honor
He crouched beside me and hovered a hand over my face, like he wanted to touch me but couldn’t find a safe, undamaged spot. “God, Wyatt,” he whispered, agonizingly tender. “I’ve got you now. I’ve got you.”
Marcel’s face was etched with guilt as he knelt beside us and pulled a pocketknife from his jeans. With a flick, the blade snapped open, and he sliced through the plastic binding my wrists. I wanted to reach out and wrap Gage in my arms so badly, but my arms were numb and limp. Dead weight.
“Shit,” Gage choked, curling his body protectively over me and brushing blood-matted hair back from my forehead. His hand trembled as his thumb ghosted over my swollen temple. “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so fucking sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” I rasped, licking my cracked lips before I could manage a wobbly smile. “I guess it was your turn to save me.”
Something wet was dripping onto my face, hot and salty on my lips, and for a confused moment, I thought I was bleeding again. I realized with a start that he was crying. Huge, silent tears that ran down his cheeks in streaks. Pins and needles were beginning to blaze through my fingers, but I managed to lift a trembling hand to his face. I clumsily wiped at his tears, and he let out a broken sob.
For the first time that night, the crushing weight in my chest began to ease. We were going to be okay. He trusted me, wholly and without question. Hearing him acknowledge that I loved him like it was a simple, undeniable truth had healed something inside me I never knew was broken. I wasn’t some mythical savior to him anymore. I was just the man who loved him, the man who would never betray him.
I might have saved him once, but he’d saved me, too.
Chapter Thirty-Six
GAGE
I leanedagainst my bedroom door, arms crossed, watching Wyatt shuffle stubbornly around the room like a mule who refused to stay in his pen. A week had passed since his release from the hospital, but his bruises had barely faded from angry purple to sickly gray and yellow. His stiff, robotic posture and the way he winced with every step told me he was still in plenty of pain.
I was no stranger to getting worked over, but Dominic had really done a number on him. If we hadn’t arrived when we did, I had no doubt he’d have killed Wyatt, leaving me to spend the rest of my life alone, haunted by the mystery of what happened. Whenever I thought of it, the rage I felt drove me half-crazy. The only thing keeping me sane was focusing all my energy on Wyatt’s recovery.
After all these years, he was still the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. The bruises didn’t diminish him. If anything, they highlighted his strength. Wyatt wore his scars as proof of survival, not defeat. Even now, with his face marked and his jaw shadowed with a week’s beard growth, he was so handsomehe took my breath away. His broad shoulders pulled at the bandages on his side with every movement, but they never slumped. They were strong enough to carry me through hell, just like he’d done the day we met.
God, how I wanted him.
“Bed,” I commanded, putting as much force into it as I could muster when all I wanted was to pull him into my arms and kiss those beloved lips until they softened.
To his credit, Wyatt didn’t startle, but the steady round-the-clock painkillers had dulled his reaction speed. He turned slowly, those dark eyes narrowing into thin slits. “I’m not a damn invalid.”
I straightened from my slouch and unfolded my arms, bracing for an argument. “You will be if you fall flat on your ass again. Then it’s back to the hospital. Is that what you want?”
He squared up with me like he was ready to go ten rounds, but the effect was ruined when he tottered and grabbed the bedpost for support. “I’m losing my mind just lying here,” he grumbled. “I need to move.”
I gave him a slow once-over, taking in the faint tremors in his thighs and the way his breathing was just a little too shallow. “You’ll move when the doctor says you’re ready. Now get back in bed before I put you there myself.”
Wyatt’s eyes twinkled at the challenge. “You wouldn’t dare,” he said, raising one eyebrow.
“You sure about that?” I stepped forward, cracking my knuckles for effect. “I’ll throw you over my shoulder like a sack of rice and tuck you in myself.”
Wyatt’s mouth twitched, but he suppressed it, like he thought laughing would hurt my feelings. We were evenly matched physically, but he had the gravitas of densely packed muscle I never would. “Go ahead,” he taunted. “Try me.”
I didn’t hesitate. One second, I was leaning against the door, and the next, I had my arms locked under his legs and back, ready to lift.
“Okay, okay! You win, dammit!” Wyatt shouted. His hands shot out to keep me at bay, and he hobbled toward the bed like it was his own idea all along.
I bit back a grin and followed, watching as he sank onto the mattress with a frustrated growl. “Still don’t think you could’ve done it,” he muttered, easing back against his stack of pillows with a wince.
“Once you’re better, we’ll hit the gym, and I’ll prove it,” I said, tugging the quilt up over his legs. He rolled his eyes, but I ignored him, smoothing the edges of my patchwork quilt like some overzealous nurse.
Wyatt watched me fuss, and his gaze softened with amusement. “You’re enjoying fussing, aren’t you?”
I snorted and retrieved an extra pillow he’d knocked to the floor, stuffing it beneath his knees to prop up his legs. “I’d enjoy it a lot more if my patient wasn’t so stubborn.”
He just leaned back against the mountain of pillows and sighed. His eyes fluttered shut, and the room fell silent, save for the occasional call of a cardinal from the oak outside my window. The soft drone of life at Eden drifted in from downstairs: the distant clatter of dishes, a burst of raucous teenage laughter, and the low murmur of Gideon’s voice.
Wyatt’s house would have been a calmer spot for healing, but the first few days had been so rough, I was afraid to leave him alone for even a second. Having Gideon or Loretta or even Mason to relieve me when I needed a shower or pharmacy run was a lifesaver. Besides, there was something reassuring about surrounding ourselves with life. We’d come so close to disaster.
I settled into a chair beside the bed, elbows on my knees, in the same perch I’d taken for the past week. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust him. I just didn’t trust his body to keep up with his stubborn streak.