Then. “I almost don’t have a problem with that last part.”
A laugh worked up through me, and I nearly lost the thread of the braid I was weaving into her hair. “Almost?”
“Almost,” she said. “I am confused about what I should feel. I’m upset. That’s a given. I hurt—my wrist really aches right now, and so does my cheek.”
“How’s your back?”
“Sore, but it’s not as bad.”
“You want one of your pain pills?”
“I hate taking them.”
“I know, but I hate you being in pain.”
“If I take them, then all I’m going to do is be a little sleepy and silly all day.”
“Then you can snooze on me,” I said. “You’re recovering. You’re allowed to rest.”
She was quiet for a long time, and I let her work it out while I finished the braid. When I was done, she tilted her head back to look up at me. “You’re really good at that.”
“Shh, I’m a big bad ass football player with anger management issues, don’t let anyone know I can do hair.”
“Your secret is safe with me.”
“I know it is.” I dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Take your pain meds? For me?” There was no mistaking the wince around her eyes or the fact that she’d gotten pale beneath her tan. The bad dreams didn’t help her rest either.
“You really think I did nothing wrong?” Those deep green eyes held all of my attention.
“Iknowyou didn’t do anything wrong, Baby Girl. You scratched the shit out of his face for one.” Then I reached down to touch her splinted arm gently and lifted it. “And under these bandages, I know for a fact your knuckles are bruised, which tells me you pegged him with your right. You did everything right, Frankie. That fucker is the one who screwed up. He’s the asshole. He made mistakes. Not you.”
She blew out a breath. “And if you guys…”
“No,” I said firmly. “We’re not playing the what if game.” We couldn’t. We really couldn’t. I already wanted to kill the guy. Straight up. When I’d said as much to one of the cops, he’d been really clear with me. I couldn’t make threats like that. So fine, I’d keep them to myself. I still wanted to kill him. “He fucked up. He’s the bad guy. You didn’t doanythingwrong. Clear?”
I hadn’t meant to growl those last words, because dammit, I was supposed to be keeping things easier for her, but they came out that way regardless.
She let out this little relieved breath and then nodded. “Clear.”
Frowning, I traced a finger over her forehead. “Have you really been worried you did something wrong?”
“A little.”
Fuck.
“I just don’t remember so much of it, and Denitra said that was normal. That it had to do with the drug in my system. But there’s this blank wall. I remember dancing. I remember having fun and laughing. Then I kind of remember needing to pee. But I was still…happy.” Her eyes took on this lost look, and I didn’t think I could hate that asshole more than I did at the moment. “Then nothing. So I don’t know what I did. I don’t know if I went with him or if I lead him on or…I don’t know.”
Okay.
“C’mere,” I said, helping her up and then tugging her into my lap. When she melted right into me and wrapped her arms around my neck, I balanced her and then touched her chin so I could look her right in her eyes. “You fought him. No matter what he did or said, or what you worry you did or said, you fought him. You scratched his face. You punched him. You were so out of it when we got there, but you fought him before. That tells me in bright, bold, neon fucking letters that you did not want to be there and you did not want anything to do with him.”
She studied me, and I knew she searched for something in my eyes. Maybe she wanted to know if I really believed it—I did. Maybe she wanted to know if she could believe it—she should, but I couldn’t force her to. I just needed her to hear me.
I could go on, but I bit my tongue. I just needed her to focus on that one point right now.
“Okay,” she said after a long moment, and I let out a breath. “I believe you.”
“Yeah?”