“You flinched away from me.” He sounds so hurt. As hurt as he looked. “And it’s okay, Baby. I don’t blame you for being afraid of me.”

I pause, trying to think what the hell he’s talking about.

He can’t mean…

“Good to bed, Savannah.”

My mouth opens to reply, to tell him he’s a fucking idiot, but loud music vibrates through the door.

“Fucking idiot.” I say it anyway.

It all makes sense now.

It’s stupid. But it all suddenly makes perfect sense.

I was too out of it when I woke up in the hospital to remember, but I had a week alone in my bedroom to relive every moment of that night. The good and the bad.

And I remember waking up on the floor, hearing growls and flesh hitting flesh. And I was terrified that something might have happened to King. So I rolled over. But as soon as I did, my wrist started throbbing. The pain was unbelievable. So much worse than anything else on my body, and it was all I could focus on.

Until King was there, right there and reaching for me. Reaching for my broken arm.

And I did flinch.

But not because I was scared of him.

Because I was hurt. And I knew if he grabbed my hand and I screamed out in pain, he’d freak out.

I let my forehead thud against the wood again. “Stupid fucking idiot,” I whisper it this time.

He’s in there tearing himself apart over something that’s not even true.

I push away from the door.

Good thing I’m not as fragile as he thinks I am.

The phone rings twice before it’s answered.

“Hello, Savannah.”

“Nero.” I take a breath. “I need a favor.”

The chuckle he lets out is less terrifying than I remember. “I thought you’d never ask.”

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