“No, it’s good,” Melanie said. “I want to get home as soon as possible. Don’t want Izzy freaking out.”

“I hear that,” said Braids. “Soon as we get you cleared, we’ll get you on the road. Let me take your vitals and then I’ll see if I can find a doctor to clear you.”

I probably should’ve offered to step into the hallway while she did her work, but no way I was letting Melanie out of my sight until I knew the whole story. This situation felt too much like the morning I’d first met her. We’d been at the hospital then, too—London’s house had blown sky-high, and Mel had gotten caught in the explosion.

“Hit your call button if you need me,” said Braids, making a point of handing her the little remote thingy. I took in a deep, calming breath and offered her a sweet smile and she softened, just like the old lady downstairs. Too easy.

“Why are you here?” Melanie asked after Braids left. I think she was trying to sound tough, but it came off more pathetic than anything else.

“To find out what the hell happened,” I told her, studying the bruises. “You look like shit.”

“Fuck you.”

“Anytime, although you’re probably not up to it today. Now tell me the whole story.”

She glared at me for a second, so I just crossed my arms and waited her out.

“One of the regulars in the ER—a homeless guy—attacked me.”

“Why?”

“He’s mentally ill,” she said, shrugging. “Paranoid. Probably decided I was trying to do something to him. Off his meds.”

“So what happens to him?”

“Oh, they sedated him and hauled him off to Psych. They’ll stabilize him and then he’ll probably be out again.”

“Seriously?” I asked, startled. “No charges, nothing?”

“It wouldn’t make any difference,” she said, sighing. “System’s not set up for people like him. He’s sick, not evil. I don’t want them pressing charges.”

“So they’ll just let him out again?”

“Not until he’s stabilized. Who knows, maybe he’ll realize what he did and stay on his meds this time. It’s a fucked-up situation, but I guess anything’s possible.”

I didn’t like this shit. Didn’t like it at all.

“So what’s to stop him from coming back and attacking you again?”

“Hopefully the medication,” she replied. “We’ll see. I’m careful, Painter. This was just a random accident, it’s not like he’s out to get me. He probably won’t even remember doing it. Just let it go, okay?”

I stood, pacing across the room as I tried to wrap my head around the situation. “So I have to explain to our daughter that her mama’s beat to shit because of some crazy guy, and when she asks whether it could happen again, I just say maybe? No. You need to find a better job, Mel. It’s fucked.”

“I’ll tell her that there was an accident, I’m fine, and it won’t happen again. There’s no reason to scare Izzy.”

“There’s a thousand different ways to be a nurse. I don’t get why you want to be around crazy people and stabbings and accidents. Why would anyone choose that?”

“Because it’s challenging and exciting?” she snapped. “Because these people need me, and every day I’m pushed to the limit of my abilities? Anything could happen and I like that—it’s never boring. You of all people should understand that, Mr. Reapers MC. At least I’m fixing the holes in people instead of making them.”

I spun around, staring her down. “Excuse me?”

“You’re an adrenaline junkie, Painter,” she said. “You make damned good money with your art, but you spend all your time on a fucking motorcycle. Donor-cycle, that’s what we call them in here, did you know that? You get in fights, you go to jail, all for no reason other than getting off on the rush.”

“I’ve been a goddamned saint since I got out, and you know it. I’m not reckless, I take good care of our kid, and I’m not putting myself at any more risk than you are. Sure, I’m in a motorcycle club, but you’re the one who got jumped and beat to shit last night. You’re just as much of an adrenaline junkie as me. Admit it.”

We stared each other down, and despite the black eyes and ring of bruises, my cock was getting hard. Her chest was heaving and her nipples pointed at me through the thin hospital gown.

“Fuck you,” she finally said. I laughed.

“Anytime—we covered that already,” I said, feeling strangely relieved. If she was strong enough to fight with me, she’d be okay. “Will you promise me one thing, at least?”

“What’s that?”

“If you’re gonna work in this place, I want you takin’ some self-defense courses down at the gun shop, okay? Ruger teaches them, and he’s good at what he does. Maybe learn about guns, too.”

She frowned at me. “Why should I need to know how to shoot?”

“Why should you need to know self-defense at all?” I countered reasonably. “Because the world is dangerous and you got attacked. It’ll make me feel a lot better. Do it.”

Mel’s eyes narrowed.

“Please.” I added, rolling my eyes. She shrugged.

“All right. Although I was planning to anyway. Take a class, I mean. I never want to feel that helpless again.”

I smiled, knowing I’d won whether she wanted to admit it or not. “How much longer are you stuck here?”

“Just until they check me out.”

“I’ll wait and give you a ride home. We can explain to Izzy together. You look like you need sleep. Want me to take her for the night?”

Melanie’s eyes narrowed.

“Yes, that would be lovely. Asshole.”

“Bitch.”

“I’d say ‘Get a room,’ but you’ve already got one. Want me to stand guard outside the door?”

We both turned to find Puck watching us, his dark face grim. I caught the hint of laughter in his eyes, though. Next to him stood Braids.

“The doctor will be here in five,” she said. “Maybe the baby daddy should wait outside?”

I laughed.

“Yeah, I’ll do that. You’re on my bike going home, Mel. It’ll be just like old times.”

She flipped me off and Puck burst out laughing. I followed him into the hallway, leaning back against the wall, feeling strangely satisfied with myself.

“You get off on baiting her, don’t you?”

I shrugged, refusing to acknowledge the point, even if it was the truth. Hell, it was better than not getting off at all.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

ONE MONTH AFTER IZZY’S FOURTH BIRTHDAY

JULY

MELANIE

“You’re so hot, Mel,” Greg whispered, running his hands down my ass. He pulled me tight into his body, swaying awkwardly to the music, and I wondered if he was really the player Sherri insisted he had to be.

All firefighters are players, she’d told me. So have fun with him, but don’t get your hopes up. You need someone stable. That new security guard keeps flirting with you . . .

I didn’t want to believe her, though. Me and Greg would be perfect for each other—like a storybook. He was also an EMT, and I’d seen him on and off at work for months now. Handsome, built . . . sort of rough and ready in a way that I didn’t like to admit totally turned me on, but it did. It so did.

He reminds you of Painter, my brain whispered insidiously.

Shut up, bitch! my vagina hissed back. He’s probably got a really nice dick.

You’re drunk. Stop being such a slut.

You’re a cock-blocker—we haven’t had sex in forever!

I blinked, realizing my brain was 100 percent right—I was definitely drunk, because why the hell else would I be imagining an argument with my vagina in the middle of a dance floor?

Pull your shit together, Mellie girl.

Greg had asked me out to the Ironhorse for a drink (which had turned into many drinks) and now it was nearly midnight. The music wasn’t great, but the crowd was into it and I was having a good time—a good enough time that I’d been giving serious thought to going home with him. Well, serious something. “Thought” might not be the best word, seeing as things had gotten pretty damned fuzzy after that last round of shots. But I was definitely turned on and it’d been a long time since I’d gotten laid. Not since the dentist . . . ugh. That’d been a mistake.