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Once, when I’d been around five or six, he’d tried to tell me it was his hundredth birthday; he’d never actually admitted what his real age was, and if he had a birth certificate or passport, I’d never found it.
Taking care of people wasn’t something new for me. But taking care of a cranky, irritable superbeing who seemed like he could barely deal with my presence for no good reason was a totally different fucking beast.
I might respect him, but I didn’t love him, and with love, you could do anything. But when you didn’t love someone, it was harder not to want to wring their fucking necks when they got on your nerves. And oh, the son of a bitch got on my nerves.
The problem was that I had the balls—mostly because I had the curiosity—but I had the brains to know that I better not.
“Not to sound rude, but how much longer do you think you’re going to be here? Ballpark. No rush.” I’d totally failed on the not sounding rude part. Fantastic.
I’m worried about how much pain you’re still in—” “I’m… not,” he cut me off. I swear it took everything in me not to roll my eyes. Fucking liar, liar, pants on fire. What? Did he think I’d exploit him if he admitted it? That was dumb. Patience, patienceee. “Okay.” I didn’t sound patient at all, and I knew it.
But that’s when he said, in a grudging, tight voice that definitely sounded irritated as shit, “I should… be.” I knew it! Not that I was glad to hear that.
“I’ve never been… like this. Weak….” He trailed off and flicked those curly lashes at me. “This is… the longest it’s ever… taken me to heal.” His Adam’s apple bobbed, and he gritted those pristine, white teeth. “I don’t… like it.” It was just as bad, if not worse than I’d imagined.
“Are you sure I can’t take you somewhere? Is there some place that can help you heal?” Please say yes, please say yes. His “no” was instant and sharp enough that I knew for sure I shouldn’t ask again.
The Defender glared like he knew I was thinking about his undies.
That I would know I had done something good. That mattered to me. That mattered to me a hell of a lot more than I wanted it to, because I knew I needed to go and wouldn’t. Not until he was ready.
“Why don’t… you… have friends?” Of all the things in the world I could have expected him to ask, that was the last.
“Shouldn’t you… have friends? Family?... Boyfriend?” he asked, his face suddenly suspicious. “No one… ever calls you.” Yeah, a punch to the kidneys. Maybe the face too while we were at it. How the hell did he know that?
“You think… I would leave… myself vulnerable? I’m not… completely… unaware of… my surroundings.” I bit my lip and couldn’t help the snarky-ass comment that snuck out of my mouth. “Looked like you were passed out to me.”
This man had saved the world. He might be a grumpy, bossy shit, but he had done things for civilization that were… well, he’d never be paid back for it. It wasn’t a surprise he wasn’t some polite, courteous person. At this point, I was 99.9 percent certain he was missing those genes in his DNA.
But his comment really did hurt. Not just my kidney either, but my heart as well. Of all the things I’d ever been sensitive over, “friends” were at the top of the damn list. “I do have friends,” I whispered, my eyes suddenly stinging a little. More than a little.
I was trying to be nice here. I’d been trying to be nice to him. It hadn’t exactly been easy either, but I’d tried.
And sure, nice people probably didn’t have to tell themselves to be nice, but too fucking bad.
Plus, who the hell did he think he was judging me for not having friends? I didn’t see anybody hanging up missing or wanted posters for him. I was just smart enough not to bring that shit up. Fucking rude.
Unfortunately, I kept on thinking about his dumb insinuation as I worked. He didn’t know me. Didn’t know my life. He didn’t understand shit. But his comments still made me pretty damn miserable anyway.
With not having friends or relationships, you didn’t have people who could let you down.
Leaning against the doorway, looking pale while holding my cell phone—the same cell phone I clearly remembered leaving plugged in to charge in my office—was my houseguest.
And he was rude. He was so damn rude no matter how handsome he might be as he typed away on my phone’s screen. Would poison give him the shits? I wondered for a second.
I had promised myself I was going to help him get better. He deserved it. But oh my god, it was hard. So much harder than I ever could have expected.
“Do you need something else?” I asked, my voice fucking flat. Those purple eyes flicked up from my phone again. All righty then.
He’d probably seen thousands of naked bodies. Women more than likely threw themselves at him regularly. The poor, innocent fools didn’t know any better.
I brushed my arm against his on the way out, ignoring that buzz that I’d almost gotten used to getting since being around him so much.
I needed to keep my chin up. Get this done. Then I could move on. I had this.
So, somebody wasn’t as healed as he’d tried to make it seem.
Could hear me if I spit in it. But he’d been here for about two weeks now, and he was finally becoming suspicious about my intentions?
“What are you hiding then?”
There was something about his energy, about the high tilt of his chin, that seemed so… arrogant.
But I guess when you were what he was, anybody would be. I’d probably be insufferable.
I was a perfect angel when I wasn’t mad, and I was rarely mad. I didn’t put myself into enough positions to get angry. At least that was the kind of energy I tried to put out in the universe.
He got squinty. “You live in… the middle of nowhere. You don’t… have family or friends or hardly any belongings. You don’t leave the house.”
Maybe he would never be able to find me. I’d had decades of experience staying under the radar. There were even more precautions I could take.
And maybe I was a fucking idiot if I thought for a second he wouldn’t dig as deep into his reserve as he could and beat me to the fucking door, then… do something to me until I told him everything.
I’d spent my whole life trying not to do anything so that I wouldn’t bring attention to myself.
“Hiding is a very strong word.” Not a single thing changed about his sharp features. His voice was deceptively steady as he asked in a mocking voice, the sarcastic son of a bitch, “Is it?”
The soft sound he made through his nose made the hairs on the back of my neck rise. Every time I got close to him, I’d noticed how he made my skin feel, and if I was beside him for too long, it made the rest of me feel weird too, but not in a bad way. But this? It was different. And that was the wrong thing to fucking ask from how deep his growl had come out. Only he could have questions. Glad we had that sorted.
The Defender was on the top step. His head was tossed slightly back, and a beam of moonlight brushed his perfect face. He almost looked like an angel. An angel of death with that personality but an angel.
One who needed to get better so he could leave sooner than later, because I really did have to go. But I was going to miss this place.
He looked… almost happy.
Tenderness and what I was pretty sure was a protective instinct tickled me right between the shoulder blades.
Even if he was a bit of a shit. But there had to be a good heart in there somewhere for him to do what he did for this world.
What was the point of everything if I couldn’t even enjoy my life the way I really wanted to? Surviving wasn’t the same thing as living. Was it?
Maybe things weren’t as dire as I’d always thought, as I’d been told. And maybe I was just desperate and lonely and a little scared about what these damn stomachaches meant and considering making stupid decisions because of it.
Watching, always fucking watching. And judging. And more than likely thinking of what I was doing that was suspicious. I couldn’t say I blamed him either.
We’re all products of our circumstances. I knew that better than anyone. Being nice, kissing ass, was so much fucking work.
Dealing with this man was going to be my good deed of the year. Maybe the century. It would be a thankless job, but somebody had to do it, and that person was me. Because of all the millions of yards he could have landed in, it had been mine. What were the fucking chances?
