Burn Down the Night by M. O'Keefe Page B

thinking about revenge—”
    Nope. That wasn’t going to work. I pulled her toward me by her neck, her skin suddenly pale as she realized she was in serious trouble. She was on her tiptoes and I could feel her swallow against my hand. I could feel her heartbeat against my fingers, like a bird trapped in a bag. I pushed my thumb against that frantic pulse—just to show her how small she was. How, in this cruel world, she was nothing.
    I was bigger. Badder. And would hurt her without thinking.
    “You don’t know shit about me,” I told her. “Not one thing. You need to stop thinking you do. Understood?”
    She nodded and I let her go. She fell back against the wall with a gasp.
    “I saved your life asshole,” she snapped at me, rubbing at the red prints of my hand on the pale skin of her throat. I had to give her credit. She went down swinging.
    “You were going to blow me up, Joan. You can see why I’m not thanking you.” I turned toward the soup and the sandwich practically floating in it.
    Chicken noodle and grilled cheese.
    The smell of it pulled at memories from my childhood. Happy ones. That shit apartment, Mom clean for the moment, Pops unable to take his eyes off her. Dylan…
    Fuck that. I wanted nothing to do with those memories. They had no place in my life and hadn’t for a long time.
    “This for me?” I asked.
    “Yeah,” she said.
    “You already eat?”
    I glanced back at her silence.
    “It’s a simple fucking question, Joan. Did you eat already or is this shit for you?”
    “That’s my sandwich,” she muttered pointing to the one in the soup. “You can have it, if you want it. I’ll make another one.”
    I nodded and took the soup to the couch. “Whose underwear am I wearing?” I asked. Sitting down felt good, laying down I knew would feel even better. I was suddenly really tired.
    “No idea,” she said.
    “You just happened to have some men’s underwear kicking around?”
    “My aunt did. I’m choosing not to ask. She performed surgery on you, by the way. Took out the bullet. Stopped an infection.”
    I grunted. The catheter. I could thank her aunt for that bit of torture.
    “I’ll pass on your thanks,” she said, all attitude. Fucking Joan. She was a hard woman not to like.
    “You look like shit,” she said, standing in the doorway to the living room in a pair of cutoffs and a tank top.
    You don’t. You look good enough to eat.
    I didn’t say it, because that was not something we needed in this room. I had memories of her at the club, good ones. There’d been an insane amount of chemistry between us that I’d always thought would get acted on one day. It had seemed inevitable.
    But that day just never seemed to come. Which, frankly, was for the best.
    “Comes with being shot.” I took a bite of the soup and it was good. Really, really good. But my hands were shaking. The next spoonful of soup barely made it to my mouth.
    Weak as a fucking baby.
    I could feel her eyes on me and I didn’t like it.
    I really didn’t like it when I lifted another spoonful and most of it sloshed back into the bowl.
    “I’m not going to feed you,” she snapped at me.
    “I didn’t ask.”
    “Yeah. But you need it. You’re shaking like a leaf. So I’m just telling you, I’m not feeding you.”
    I dug the grilled cheese out of the soup and lifted it, but it was full of soup and heavy. I forced myself to take a bite before putting it back down.
    “You know. The sheets are clean, I could make the bed and you could lie down for a little while,” she said. “You try and leave now, you won’t get out of the parking garage.”
    I nodded, hating to admit she was right. I could barely eat I was so weak. So tired.
    “Give me a sec,” she said. She grabbed the laundry basket from beside the door and took it into the bedroom. I heard her moving around in there and set the soup down on the floor and braced myself as best I could to get to my feet.
    I was glad she understood that little