I shake my head quickly, push on his shoulders. “Lie back. Relax. I’m fine. The wheelchair is some stupid hospital policy thing.”

His eyes travel over my face. “But your face. The cuts…”

“Superficial,” I brush off. “Neosporin-worthy, nothing else.” I move closer to him, reach out and bend down. Hug his chest as gently as I can. Breathe in the scent that is not Jeremy. It is medicinal and sickly, yet I inhale as much of it as I can gather. I relax, rest my head on his chest. “Does this hurt?”

His hand comes up, brushes gently over my back. “Not in the least.”

We stay there, for long moment, and then I straighten. “Tell me what happened. I saw the house explode—you couldn’t have…”

His eyes study me. I don’t like how they look at me. As if they are fighting a war beneath the green. “First, what happened to your face?” His eyes drop down. “Your hands.” He pulls back the sleeve of my gown, flipping over my hands to reveal my shredded palms. “Jesus, Dee.”

I push his hands away. “It’s nothing. I pulled up to your house right before the explosion. Got scratched up from the blast. Tell me what happened.” I keep my eyes on his, my face so tight I feel as if my skin will rip.

He looks away. “I don’t really know. I came home from work. Walked in the house, don’t remember anything happening, but woke up and was tied up.”

“Tied up?” My voice is harsh. Harsher than I meant it to be, the anger pushing and pulling my vocal cords without my permission. His eyes return to mine, a bit of wariness in their depths.

“Yeah. My hands behind my back, with zip ties. Feet tied. I had some kind of tape—probably duct tape—across my mouth and eyes.”

“For how long?” Fuck. Any compassion, any guilt that may have stuck around, lingered in some traitorous vein in my body, disappears. It’s a waste of a question. I know when Marcus arrived at my house. I know the time I spent with him, the time I spent dumping his body. Taking my sweet fucking time while Jeremy lay alone.

He shrugs. “Not sure.”

“How’d you escape?”

“I kicked my feet instead of yanking them. Broke half the kitchen before I hit the pipe I was tied to. Rolled my way to the side of the house. Really heroic, manly stuff.” He smiles and I try to but I can’t.

“So you never saw the guy.”

“Nope. Why? You know who he was?” The question changes the dynamic of the room. I try to read his eyes. Try to understand the vibe between us. Not anger, but wariness. Hesitation mixed with curiosity.

“Yes. A client.” I don’t give him anything more. Wait to see what pawn he slides forward. I don’t want to tell him what I did. There is no short way to tell this story, a Pandora’s box of outcomes to revealing my soul. Plus, he’s got to be tired. Medicated. The responsible thing would be to let him rest. “That was why I was so rude yesterday afternoon. I thought he was coming to my apartment—didn’t want you to be in danger.”

It is a horribly brief explanation, one that should be followed up with a flurry of questions, but Jeremy stays silent. “Do you want to know more?”

A long silence, then he shakes his head. “I don’t want him to hurt you.”

I shake my head. “He’s not going to.”

“I don’t want you going back to the apartment. If he came to me he could have gone to you next. He could be waiting there, like he did with me.”

I raise my chin, look into his eyes with enough resolve that he stops talking. “He’s not going to hurt me. I’m not saying that to reassure you, I’m telling you it as fact.”

He says nothing. We hold a long look, then he nods.

I am scared of the question but ask it anyway. “Do you want to know more?”

His head slowly moves. Shakes. “Not right now. The, uh, the nurses said that the police came by. Want to talk to me. Are investigating the explosion. I want to be as truthful as I can when I speak to them. As ignorant as I can.” He lowers his voice, as if he has suddenly remembered where we are. “If you want to talk later, once I get out of here, we can talk then.” He rests his head against the pillow, turns it to look into my face. “Do you want to tell me?”

I laugh through an exhale of breath and shake my head slightly. “No.” I look back at him. “But I think I should. There are things about me that you should know.”

His eyes squint a bit as he focuses on me. “Just because we are in love doesn’t mean you have to share all your secrets.”