a beat and then kicked up again, resuming its treacherous function. “Where?”
“Everywhere,” she answered, meeting his gaze. “It’s end stage.”
His head pounded. Her pale countenance and frailty could be explained away with that one word.
Cancer.
His eyes burned, and he rose unsteadily to his feet. Turning away from her, he tried to control the ridiculous flow of…what?
Emotion? Oh, hell no.
She flinched like a frightened animal at his sudden movement. He froze, and then eased himself back into the chair, extending his palms in a calming gesture.
No more sudden movements.
Couldn’t blame her. After what she’d experienced, it was no wonder she was jumpy.
“What were you doing in that alley?” he asked, unable to keep the chastisement from his voice.
“I volunteer at the shelter next door. I cook for the homeless. I was on my way in for the breakfast shift when I saw a kid dragging someone behind the Dumpster.”
He heaved in a breath and closed his eyes, hoping for patience he wasn’t capable of manifesting.
“And you thought you could do what?” he asked, amazed and disgusted by her lack of self-preservation.
“Help?” she whispered.
“That worked out great. You could have been killed, too. Did that not occur to you?”
She looked down at her hands again, twisting them together, working her thumb in a circle inside her palm. “I’m already dying. What did I have to lose?”
What the holy hell?
His brain erupted in an explosion of expletives in a variety of languages.
Chapter Nine
Kylen’s gut twisted into a knot of anger as the blue energy zinged through him, threatening to immolate him.
He needed to get out of her room.
He should not be caring for anyone; he should not be trusted with this woman. A woman whose name he realized that he still did not know.
His head twitched her way again. “What is your name?”
She pulled her knees up against her chest beneath the covers, curling herself into an upright fetal position. Tilting her head to the side, she rested her cheek on her knees, her gaze lasering through him.
“Olivia.”
He pushed abruptly against the chair with the back of his legs as he stood, scraping it across the wooden floor like fingernails on a chalkboard.
“I’ll be back.”
Air, he needed some damned air.
Now.
Stumbling from the bedroom like a drunk, he staggered to the back door, desperate for the sweet relief of the late September afternoon…and his trailer.
* * *
Olivia realized she was not afraid. Perplexed? Concerned? Confused? Yes, but not afraid.
Her hero was intense, but there was something reassuring about him nonetheless, betraying his harsh exterior. She was more concerned with finding out who had undressed her and where her things were.
It was so quiet here…wherever here was. And why was she in a hospital bed hooked up to machinery when this clearly wasn’t a hospital or hospice center? It was all so disconcerting. This wasn’t the way she’d envisioned her last day at the homeless shelter.
One by one, she’d been ticking off the items on her bucket list. She was down to the last fourteen. Of course, they were the most frightening ones, which was exactly why they were last. Cooking at a homeless shelter was nothing compared to #53 and #58:
get drunk
and
have a one-night stand.
She shuddered.
The idea of a bucket list had seemed so wonderful at first. Essential even. As she’d ticked her way through the list, she was surprised by how easy most of them were to achieve. Of course, her wishes weren’t too exotic. No running with the bulls in Pamplona, swimming with sharks in South Africa, or other such craziness. And she had no intention of leaving a trail of unpaid debt behind despite her former coworker’s suggestion that she charge everything to a credit card, Visa be damned. Her parents would have been so disappointed with her if she’d even considered such a thing. In preparing for her death, she’d proceeded as cautiously as
“Everywhere,” she answered, meeting his gaze. “It’s end stage.”
His head pounded. Her pale countenance and frailty could be explained away with that one word.
Cancer.
His eyes burned, and he rose unsteadily to his feet. Turning away from her, he tried to control the ridiculous flow of…what?
Emotion? Oh, hell no.
She flinched like a frightened animal at his sudden movement. He froze, and then eased himself back into the chair, extending his palms in a calming gesture.
No more sudden movements.
Couldn’t blame her. After what she’d experienced, it was no wonder she was jumpy.
“What were you doing in that alley?” he asked, unable to keep the chastisement from his voice.
“I volunteer at the shelter next door. I cook for the homeless. I was on my way in for the breakfast shift when I saw a kid dragging someone behind the Dumpster.”
He heaved in a breath and closed his eyes, hoping for patience he wasn’t capable of manifesting.
“And you thought you could do what?” he asked, amazed and disgusted by her lack of self-preservation.
“Help?” she whispered.
“That worked out great. You could have been killed, too. Did that not occur to you?”
She looked down at her hands again, twisting them together, working her thumb in a circle inside her palm. “I’m already dying. What did I have to lose?”
What the holy hell?
His brain erupted in an explosion of expletives in a variety of languages.
Chapter Nine
Kylen’s gut twisted into a knot of anger as the blue energy zinged through him, threatening to immolate him.
He needed to get out of her room.
He should not be caring for anyone; he should not be trusted with this woman. A woman whose name he realized that he still did not know.
His head twitched her way again. “What is your name?”
She pulled her knees up against her chest beneath the covers, curling herself into an upright fetal position. Tilting her head to the side, she rested her cheek on her knees, her gaze lasering through him.
“Olivia.”
He pushed abruptly against the chair with the back of his legs as he stood, scraping it across the wooden floor like fingernails on a chalkboard.
“I’ll be back.”
Air, he needed some damned air.
Now.
Stumbling from the bedroom like a drunk, he staggered to the back door, desperate for the sweet relief of the late September afternoon…and his trailer.
* * *
Olivia realized she was not afraid. Perplexed? Concerned? Confused? Yes, but not afraid.
Her hero was intense, but there was something reassuring about him nonetheless, betraying his harsh exterior. She was more concerned with finding out who had undressed her and where her things were.
It was so quiet here…wherever here was. And why was she in a hospital bed hooked up to machinery when this clearly wasn’t a hospital or hospice center? It was all so disconcerting. This wasn’t the way she’d envisioned her last day at the homeless shelter.
One by one, she’d been ticking off the items on her bucket list. She was down to the last fourteen. Of course, they were the most frightening ones, which was exactly why they were last. Cooking at a homeless shelter was nothing compared to #53 and #58:
get drunk
and
have a one-night stand.
She shuddered.
The idea of a bucket list had seemed so wonderful at first. Essential even. As she’d ticked her way through the list, she was surprised by how easy most of them were to achieve. Of course, her wishes weren’t too exotic. No running with the bulls in Pamplona, swimming with sharks in South Africa, or other such craziness. And she had no intention of leaving a trail of unpaid debt behind despite her former coworker’s suggestion that she charge everything to a credit card, Visa be damned. Her parents would have been so disappointed with her if she’d even considered such a thing. In preparing for her death, she’d proceeded as cautiously as
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