Elizabeth Finn - Unforgiven

She sat up and stared at him as he stood. “Next week sometime?”

“What?” But he wasn’t dumbfounded; he was defensive.

She threw the covers back and stood up. Stomping away from the man to his bathroom and slamming the door was probably a bit juvenile, but that was exactly what she did. She stood at the sink, staring at her idiot self in the mirror, and she waited for him to leave. It didn’t take long, and when she heard his car backing out of the driveway, she emerged. She downed a cup of coffee and paced in his living room for thirty minutes, mumbling to herself. The phone rang just as she was starting the dishwasher, and she cringed when his cell number popped up on caller ID.

“Care to tell me what that was all about?”

“No.” Her voice was flat.

“Please tell me you’re not offended I’m not asking you to move in with me after a few nights of foreplay.” His voice was sarcastic and mean, and that’s all it took. She hung up the phone on him, and when it rang again, she ignored it, grabbed her running clothes from the dryer, changed quickly, and bounded out the door with Macy in tow. If she was to suffer doing his dirty work today, she’d rather suffer the Macy part of it, not his fucking house chores. Fuck him and his emotionally constipated bullshit.

He cursed as he pocketed his phone again. He’d tried calling her three times, and he wasn’t going to waste any more time trying to get her to act like an adult. Who was he kidding? He’d been the child. He recognized the hurt on her face the instant the words were out of his mouth. He was losing his ability to enjoy her pain—in fact he detested it—and yet, he seemed powerless to maintain decency with her emotions. He was out of practice being human with her, and every time he tried to let his guard down and be vulnerable with her, his hackles rose. He felt emotionally threatened by her, and he didn’t understand it.

This wasn’t how the day was supposed to start. The night before had been incredible. He was relieved when she’d stayed for dinner after their somewhat strained time on the beach. He was also relieved he’d finally loosened up enough to be at least marginally honest and humble with her, and he’d been completely and pathetically overwhelmed by her after that. It might have been his show last night, but he’d been powerless to stop with her, and he never imagined she could be so satisfying. He was almost shocked, given how much he struggled to handle his emotions around her, that he’d still been so ravenous with her. His desire now equaled what it used to be, and that was a bit surprising to say the least.

He could still remember the warmth of her wetness and the incredible tightness he’d forced his fingers into as her body convulsed violently through her release. It was intense for her, that was certain, but it was also exceptionally intense for him too. He’d woken up thinking about nothing but his desire for her, and when she’d found him on the deck, all he thought about was how much he wanted her. He didn’t care about anything else, and it was such a relief, such a reprieve to just focus on this part of their relationship.

What he hadn’t intended to let happen was for things to crumble because his dumbass mouth couldn’t help but get him trouble. Again. He’d struggled to figure out what to say to her as he was leaving, and like some aloof, foolish kid, he’d played it cool—way too cool. He didn’t feel cool at all; he felt desperate, but those fucking hackles had risen, and he couldn’t get himself to be so vulnerable. He was stepping on his own damn toes and then again when he called her. She’d called him out on his behavior, and he’d acted defensively. When the hell had he gotten so emotionally immature?

None of it meant he wasn’t pissed she was ignoring his calls, and the second they were caught up and he was able to get out of the hospital for a while, he went home. He wasn’t sure he should trust himself to be civil, but he wasn’t going to watch her hide from him. He was forcing himself out of his comfort zone, and he didn’t need her defensiveness.

He found his house empty of both dog and girl, and when he checked the dryer, her running clothes were gone and her day clothes were folded neatly on top. He found her tennis shoes gone as well. He didn’t think she’d be up for a long run today, given her muscles had to be sore from not only the leg cramps but the paces he’d put her through last night, and so he waited. He waited as long as he could to speak to her, but he couldn’t wait all day, and when he’d been pacing for nearly forty minutes, he finally scribbled a quick but impolite message to call him on a notepad he kept by the phone, and he left.

Focusing on his afternoon got him through the wait to hear from her, but once his day slowed back down and he got ready to hand off his patients, he started fidgeting. He tried to reach her a few more times, but the phone did nothing but ring.

He finally arrived back home again. It had been a few hours since he’d run home midday. He wasn’t expecting to find the house empty again, and when he oddly found her street clothes still neatly folded on the dryer and her tennis shoes still gone, he started to panic. She’d not been back. There was no sign whatsoever that anyone but him had been in the house, and as he threw on a pair of shorts and his running shoes, he was cursing under his breath. This was not a panic he liked to feel. This was the desperate kind that left his guts clenching. He was downright terrified.

He took off down the path that winded through the trees, and he started yelling for her as he ran. He was running too fast to keep the pace for long, and he had to force himself to slow his gait. He had no idea how far she could’ve gotten, and he needed to get as far as she could possibly be. Yelling didn’t help his energy level, and he was getting winded quicker than he should. The panic coursing through his veins was likely sucking his stamina too. But he yelled her name, charging forward as his lungs started to burn, and his voice became hoarse. He’d not gone far, not more than a mile, but in his current state, he was fading fast.

He pushed forward, yelling, panicking, and trying like mad not to lose his mind. All he could see was the damn bluff of rocks that fell away steeply below. Shit. That was a good three and a half miles on unsteady terrain, and he wasn’t sure he could handle the fear of what he might find for that distance. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! She had to be okay. She simply had to be okay. He rounded a curve in the path, grunting as his muscles burned and his lungs did too, and then she was there.

He stopped, relief washing over him, but then he saw the blood, and he bolted toward her.

“Bailey!” The blood on her face was dry; she was leaning against a tree with one foot held up to rest with just her toes on the ground. She had another dry, bloody trail down her leg. She leaned her head against the trunk of the tree when she saw him.

When he reached her, he ran his hand down the side of her face. He wasn’t sure what to touch, what hurt, or how much pain she was in. “Darren.” She breathed his name out on a sigh of relief; he pulled her gingerly into his arms.

“Bailey, you have to tell me what hurts. What happened?”

She sighed into his chest as she snuggled up to him. “I lost my footing up near the rock outcropping, and—”

“You fell from there!” He sounded horrified.

“No. I was near there, and I was making my way up the path. The ground was muddy, and I lost my footing. I fell down the embankment. My ankle twisted pretty good, and I jarred my hand, but it feels all right. My knee’s torn up, and I hit my head on a tree.” She peered up to him. “But hey, your dog’s okay.” She tried for a small smile.

Macy was racing in circles around them, and Bailey sank against his chest again. Darren was more relieved than he thought he was capable of. “You hit your head?” He could see the scuff on her forehead, and blood had dripped down the side of her cheek. “Look at me.” He pulled back, holding her at arm’s length. He studied her eyes, looking for any abnormal movements or responses. “Any blurred or double vision?” She shook her head. “Fatigue?”

“Hell yes. I feel like I’ve been hobbling for hours.”

“If this happened at the outcropping, then you likely have. You’ve made it halfway home from there. When did you leave the house?”

She glanced away for a moment. She looked embarrassed. “This morning?” It wasn’t a question, but her voice certainly sounded as though it was. “I ran a few miles farther than the outcropping. I was actually on my way back when I fell.”

“Jesus, Bailey, that’s a long way for someone who’s out of practice and who had muscle spasms like you did just yesterday. What the hell were you thinking?” His voice caught in his throat. He knew exactly what she was thinking. Actually, she probably wasn’t thinking at all—she was seeing red when she’d taken off with Macy in tow. “We need to get you to the hospital. You need some X-rays.”

“Darren, I don’t have insurance anymore, and—”

“Well, thank God you know the doctor.” He smirked.

“I’ve really only made it halfway back from the rocks?” She looked disappointed.

“Sorry. Hop on.” He turned and lifted her to straddle his waist. It took nearly an hour to get back, and that was resting occasionally. She could put some weight on her foot, which was at least encouraging, but after twenty feet or so of trying to walk, the pain would become too much, and he’d lift her again. When the house finally came into view, she sighed.

He ran Macy inside while Bailey waited in his car, and then he took her to the hospital.