Dirty Dom(31)

“Things change.” I can’t look him in the eyes.

A knock at the door interrupts us. “Enter.” Pop’s says, pausing a conversation I’m not really sure I want to have.

The doctor walks in and gently shuts the door behind him. He’s an older man. Pale blue eyes surrounded by well earned wrinkles and short, white hair. His glasses make him look distinguished even if he’s wearing faded jeans and a v-neck thin sweater.

This isn’t the first time he’s been here and it won’t be the last. Nearly a decade ago, his son got into problems with a gang on the west side. He begged my father for help. Pops knows a good man when he sees him. That and it’s nice to have a doctor to come make house visits on short notice for cash payments.

“She’s stable and from what I can tell, her injuries are purely external.”

“Is she going to be alright?”

“She’ll be perfectly fine.”

“Did they?” I can’t finish the question. I swallow thickly and search his eyes. He knows what I’m asking.

“The rape kit came back negative.” I cringe at his answer but nod my head and let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. I’ll never forgive myself for what they did to her. But I am relieved to know they didn’t abuse her like that. She deserves better. She sure as fuck deserves better than me, but after what happened, I can’t let her go just yet. They know where she lives. Where she works. The doctor and my Pops have a few words but I don’t listen. I’m just focused on the fact that she’s alright.

Right now she’s alone though. I don’t like that. I want to be there when she wakes up. I stand up ready to go see her. “Where are you going?” Jack asks me as I grab the door handle.

Where the fuck does he think I’m going? I stare at him for a minute, just so he can squirm under my gaze. I didn’t forget what he said. And he sure as shit better not forget what I told him. After a moment I leave, shutting the door a little harder than I should.

I wish Jack’s fucking head was between the door and the frame. I shake off my anger and try to calm myself. If she’s awake, she’s not gonna like me storming in there with a temper.

I open the door slowly and walk into my childhood bedroom. Not that it looks like one. Statistic books and other text books line the back of my desk. Lined up in a neat row. Other than the books, the desk is cleared. Exactly how I like it. The desk is solid maple and stained dark expresso in color. It’s modern and reflects the rest of the furniture in the room. My sheets and comforter is perfectly white. And the walls a cool grey. The only personality is a simple framed enlarged photograph on the wall. It’s an abstract with bursts of colors. I don’t know why I like it. But I do. Other than the framed photograph, my room displays order and discipline. It’s how I grew up. It’s how I stayed out of the mafia.

Lying under the sheets is Becca. The white sheets bring color to her complexion. I’m grateful for it. She’s still with her arms placed at her sides and her eyes closed. Without the color, she would look dead. I pull the desk chair to the side of the bed and sit next to her, taking her hand in mine. She’s warm. I watch her chest rise and fall gently. My heart seems to slow with hers.

Bruises still cover her face and arms and the rest of her body. Even worse, the rope burns on her wrists may actually scar. On the night stand next to the bed are ointments and bandages. The doctor applied them before he left, but I’ll take care of her from here on out. I’ll make sure this doesn’t scar her. Not in any way.

She inhales a deep breath and winces in pain. I know she’s on pain meds, but maybe not enough.

“Becca?” My voice is hopeful, just as I am. I need her to wake up. I need her to tell me everything. And I need to apologize.

Her eye lids slowly open in a daze, either from a concussion or the meds, or maybe just exhaustion. I take her hand to my lips and kiss her knuckles, keeping my eyes on her face. Watching her every movement.

“I’m here doll. You’re alright.” Her eyes blink slowly and she turns her head, rubbing her cheek against the pillow. It takes a moment, but her eyes find mine. They seem to widen slightly, but still dazed.

“Jax?” She barely breathes his name.

I give her a reassuring smile. “He’s down stairs playing. He has no idea.” She closes her eyes and lets out a long exhale before slowly opening them again.

“Thank you.” Her hand weakly squeezes mine. Her head turns and she winces in pain again before staring at nothing. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” My throat starts to close so I grunt a cough and clear my throat. “It’s my fault, doll. I’m sorry.” I fucking hate that I’m apologizing. Not that I shouldn’t be, but that I’ve hurt her again.