Injuries

*Tatum* 

“Shit, shit, shit,” I mutter in annoyance as I pace my new bedroom floor carpet. 

“Oh, come on, it’s not that bad,” Maverick says from the door frame he is leaning on. The one that now connects our rooms because I don’t just have a bodyguard now, I have zero privacy. I shoot him an icy glare and he fights back a smile. The blood still caked to the side of his head where his injury heals. 

“You are supposed to keep your distance,” I remind him. “You promised.”

“Being around me isn’t that awful. The mate bond is gone, and we used to get along.”

“I had the biggest crush on you!” I squeal “we got along because I liked you and hung on your every word, stupid or not.”

“And?”

“A lot has changed since then.” I scoff.

“Like what?” he says. He is trying to annoy me now, and it’s of course working like a charm as my face heats and all I want to do is stomp and growl.

“I don’t like you anymore! Not even as a person.” I remind him and he stares at me. There is a lingering smile on his lips as he tries to hide, and it makes it really damn hard not to pop him in his pretty face with a quick jab.

“You could like me if you tried…as friends, or even just a random person you have to be around.” He says with a shrug. I huff noisily and yank my suitcase onto my bed. 

“Yeah, I have no desire to try.” 

He pushes off the door frame and saunters toward me. Maverick looks into my eyes, leaning into me slightly as I bend backward, trying to give myself space. Space to think, breathe, exist, anything so long as it’s away from him and his wonderful smell. How can he be covered in dry blood and still smell of a fresh dew on a spring morning? 

“Hmmm.” He hums before turning on his heels and walking away. He meanders over to my plush green armchair in the corner section of my room and plops into it. 

“‘Hmmm’ what?” I ask him, a crease in my brow as my lips fall into a frown. 

“This arrangement is going to be interesting.” He says.

“Understatement of the century.” I mutter, turning back around and unzipping my suitcase. The top pops open and I freeze, looking at the old tattered purple blanket that I know I left in my apartment. I spin to accuse Maverick, only to find he silently slipped from my room. 

So, like any calm, cool headed woman, I grab the blanket and march my ass over the threshold to his room. He wants to invade my space and privacy? Fine. Tit for tat, Maverick. Tit for Tat. 

I glance around the barren room, surprised by how tiny his space is. His bed is a quarter of the size of my California king and he has no sitting area where I have almost a full size living room. He is clearly not lurking in this tiny room, so I move to the only place he could be. 

The bathroom.

I knock on the door, the latch clicking quietly as the door swings open a crack. Steam rolls out like storm clouds descending over tornado valley and I can only assume he is taking a shower, or about to. It’s idiotic to look through the steam.

I know what I am likely to see, but I can’t help it. Maybe it’s my anger, or maybe it’s morbid curiosity about what I am missing out on for the rest of my life. Either way, I lean in as much as I can and freeze when I see him. 

Maverick’s palms rest on the counter as he tries to control his breathing, his eyes closed. He lifts a wet cloth with a shaky hand and presses it to his head wound. He groans, biting back a cry, trying to stifle the noise. The entirety of my body tingles, heart clenching at the site. He refused to see a healer, and he acted so normal that I’d nearly forgotten he was injured. 

“Ffffuck,” He grits out again, his hand dropping as his body shivers.

I shove the door open, and his eyes snap to mine, though they don’t have a hint of surprise in them. He must have known what I would find and come looking for him. But his pain has bought him a pass on that. At least until he pisses me off again.

“Let me help you.” I grumble, yanking the towel from his hand. 

“I’m fine.” He says, trying to level me with his signature void look. I roll my eyes and move toward him. Maverick steps back in surprise, backing into the wall and corner of the counter looking like a trapped animal.

“Great. You are still as dumb as you were back home.” I mutter.

“Tatum, really, I am used to cleaning my own wounds.” He insists, but I refuse to back away.

He doesn’t understand that this is the least I can do for him. He came for me when he didn’t have to. I can hold my own in a fight against a normal rogue. But the rogues that just attacked? They were not normal, and Maverick saved me. The least I can do is help him clean a head wound. One that, upon further inspection, looks very painful. 

“Mav, shut up and let me help you.” He just glares and me and I sigh, popping my hip to the left and propping my fist on it. “Sit your stubborn ass on that counter now.”

He contemplates it, then he drops to his knees before me. His eye pinned on mine as my heart thunders in my chest. My head feels light and a little foggy. I push through it and reach out, pressing the cloth against his head, dabbing at the dried blood. He winces and bites back a groan before he grows unsteady and sways back and forth. 

“Grab my waist.” I instruct him, and he whips his head up to look at me with a look of horror. A bubble of laughter rolls through me as I process the priceless look on his face. “Maverick, it’s fine. You need to remain steady, so use me as an anchor.” 

He nods slowly and reaches out, pausing for a moment before he rests his large hands on either side of my hips, steadying himself.

“Why didn’t you go to the healer?” I ask him, getting back to cleaning up his seeping wounds. I try to be gentle, his bruising running down his cheek and his ear swollen with little healing holes. What the hell hit him?

“There are others with far more extensive injuries. Why would I take time from their needs for something like this?”

“Oh, right, because head wounds are so trivial.” I roll my eyes. “Mav, this…this is pretty bad.”

“I’ve had worse.” He says, sounding weaker by the moment. 

“Ah yes, the motto of a true warrior male. Saying ‘I’m fine’ as you try to push your brains back in your bashed skull.” I sigh and he doesn’t respond for a short time. 

“Jackson was always the one who was tough. I had to learn that trait when I got here.” He murmurs, his hands going slack on my waist as he sways again, his forehead leaning and pressing into my stomach.

“Maverick…”

“Mmm?”

“I need you to stay awake, okay?” 

“I’m awake, Tater tot, just a little lightheaded. It will pass in a moment. Talk to me?”

I pause, my hands in the air, unsure of what to do, what to say until I remember my whole reason for coming here. He wants to refuse to go see a healer when he should? Fine. I will make this as uncomfortable for him as I can. Maybe next time he will think about going to see the healer after all.

“So, I noticed a little something extra in my suitcase.” I say to the silence. I can feel his hands stiffen on me, just a gentle squeeze that shoots through my body.

“Thought you might want it.” He murmurs against my stomach, his warm breath heating the fibers of my shirt. I scoff and roll my eyes, trying to remind myself he is injured. I should try to be nice. Try.

“I would have packed it if I had wanted it.” I say, my words flat. 

“It looked well loved,” He says, his voice sleepy and weak. “Like you might miss it.”

“Sometimes we have to let things go, Maverick. Even if we don’t want to.” I say, knowing my words are no longer just about a blanket.

“So you wanted to keep it?” He asks, and my throat feels thick. Wanted to keep it? Him or the blanket?

“No,” I say firmly. “I didn’t.”

It’s not a lie. I didn’t want to keep the blanket because what I wanted to keep was him. But you can’t keep what’s not yours and he made sure he wasn’t mine. That he would never be mine.

“We are talking about a blanket, right?” He asks.

“What else would we be talking about?” I say, forcing the emotions from my voice. It’s far easier to hide the lie when he isn’t looking me in the eye. He sighs into my stomach as we both fall silent. I just wait and after a minute, he sucks in a deep breath and gently pulls his head back, refusing to look up at me. 

“Okay.” he says, tilting his chin to the side, giving me better access to his injury. 

“Are you sure you will be okay?” I nearly whisper the words, fear gripping at my mind.

What if he passes out and I can’t get him help? What if he falls asleep and doesn’t wake up? Living in a world where he will never be mine is something I can do, shit I’ve been doing it for five years. But living in a world where he might not exist? The thought hollows me out and my old wounds feel so fresh, too fucking fresh. 

“Tatum?” He whispers and I come back from my thoughts to gaze down at him.

I clear my throat and offer him a tight-lipped smile before I press on his injury just enough to distract him. 

“Holy shit!” He grits out and I give him a wry smile. 

“Whoops! Stupid me, must have pressed too hard.”

“That felt intentional.” He complains and I chortle. A deep, rather maniacal laugh that makes him smile. A devastating, sexy smile, so I press on his wound again.

“Mother fucking shit, Tate–”

“Tatum….” Artemis’ voice sounds to my right and my cheeks instantly go pink in embarrassment. I turn my head and Maverick rips his hands from my waist, jumping up as he grabs the rag from my hand. He takes one step toward Artemis and then he drops like a sack of sand, thudding hard on the ground between Artemis and me.