Free Body by Audrey Carlan Page B

stare deeply into his eyes.
    He looks away. “It is. I had a moment.” He won’t look me in the eye. The doctor comes in and explains that I have a concussion, a bruised cheekbone, five crescent shaped cuts in my neck, and a few stitches above my right eye where the gunman hit me with the butt of the weapon.
    Chase grips my hand so tightly I almost cry out as the doctor revisits each wound. I clasp Chase’s hand in both of mine and pet the top one. His thumb traces an infinity symbol over my wrist while the doctor explains that a concussion is a traumatic brain injury that alters the way your brain functions. The effects are usually temporary, but can include problems with headache, concentration, memory, judgment, balance and coordination. He tells us that I will need to be awakened every two hours, asked to remember three items, and then to repeat them at the next waking. He also informs us that the police want to take a statement.
    “Not tonight,” Chase interrupts. “I’m taking her home. She’s had a traumatic evening.” He pulls me against his side and I snuggle in.
    The nurse brings me some scrubs and hospital slippers and I slip into the little bathroom, changing out of my hospital gown. When I return, she hands Chase the bag with my soiled bloody clothes in it. Might as well toss the entire lot in the trash. I’ll never wear that outfit again.
    “Gillian, I have my people on this. That fucker won’t get away with hurting you.” He embraces me, his strong arms enveloping me. Warm and safe. In his arms, I lean my head against his chest and listen to his heartbeat. It should calm and soothe, but it does the exact opposite. The tidal wave of emotions, remembering the night’s activities, rips through me. Tears form and spill unchecked onto his shirt. Deep gut wrenching sobs roar from my scratchy throat as the realization of what happened truly invades my being. Chase’s arms hold me tight, gifting me his protection and solace as I weep.
    “Baby, it’s okay. I’ve got you,” Chase coos as he pets my hair. “I’m taking you back to the hotel.” I nod into his chest, not capable of speech.
    We leave the hospital and he ushers me into his limo. I don’t see the scenery on the way back. The pain medication they filled me with starts to take effect, and I lean heavily into Chase’s solid form. I must have dozed off because we’re at the hotel and Chase is lifting me from the limo. I lull against his chest as he carries me through the hotel. I can only imagine what we look like. Hopefully, people don’t notice much at this time of night. Really though, I’m too far gone to care.
    “Mr. Davis, Sir, do you need a wheelchair?” A man asks in the background.
    “No. I’m not letting her go.”
    His comment makes me feel warm and snuggly. I hear the ding of the elevator and soon we’re rising. Moments later, I’m on a big, soft bed. Chase pulls off my scrub pants and tucks my legs under the silky soft, cool linen sheets. He goes to the dresser and pulls out a white V-neck t-shirt. I watch in a daze, unable to do much other than stare. He drags the scrub top over my head, careful of my swollen face.
    I wait in my black lacey bra for him to put the shirt on me. “Jesus Christ, Gillian. What did that fucker do to you?” His tone is strained. His fingertips are feather light on my neck. Moving my hair to the side, he turns me toward the lamp light. He’s seeing the marks left by my attackers nails embossed into the tender skin of my neck. Chase surprises me by bringing his face close, then trailing soft kisses along the entire surface. The gesture is incredibly sweet. He’s such a dichotomy. One minute he’s challenging and demanding, the next, gentle and tender.
    “Never again will you be hurt, Gillian. I’ll make certain of it,” he promises between the soothing pecks of his lips against my flesh. I shiver from the feel of his mouth on me, more than from the trauma I experienced. A traitorous