I’VE NEVER REALLY cared for people, so the fact that I’ve been in solitary confinement, AKA administrative segregation, for a five days now doesn’t really bother me. But what does, is that I’m away from Blake.
I can’t even lie to myself. I’ve gotten used to being around her all the time. And the sex, fuck, I’m craving her scent, her touch, and her sweet fucking body.
I’m in a six-by-nine concrete block with no window for twenty-three hours a day. I don’t even have bars for a door. It’s steel with a slot that they give me my meals through. This is the one time in my life I wished I was the type of guy who required a lot of sleep—so I could at least sleep through the night. But nope, I’m up for most of it.
I was told once that when men find themselves in situations like me, they write novels in their heads. Or work out mathematical problems or sing songs to keep themselves occupied to help pass the time. Those that are held here for long periods of time can start to hallucinate.
Me? I’m spending every second of every day remembering my weekend at the cabin with Blake.
“Smith!”
I sit up and watch the door open. The guard that I know by the name of Henry enters. Shackles hang from his fists. “Shower time.” He smirks at me.
BLAKELY
I’M LYING IN bed, something I seem to do nonstop. If I’m not in a class, this is where I am, watching TV by myself. Gunner and Sarah are at a party tonight at the house of Lords. She invited me, but I told her no thanks. I’d much rather get drunk alone in my bed, wearing nothing but a T-shirt. Instead of having to get all made up and pretend I like people right now.
Ryat has me hating the world. It’s now been six days since he left. And still no fucking contact whatsoever.
But whatever, I tell myself I’m over it. Eventually, I’ll start to believe it.
I hear a sound coming from the other side of my bedroom door and mute my TV. “Sarah?” I call out.
A quick look at my cell shows me it’s not even midnight yet. There’s no way they are back. Shrugging, I turn the sound back on when my door opens.
I stare at a set of emerald eyes that I haven’t seen in almost a week. Ryat stands there, dressed in the same clothes he was wearing when I saw him last. He’s got a cut above his eye, covered in dried blood. A busted bottom lip and cracked knuckles.
My eyes narrow on him when my heart starts to race. I hate that I care how he looks. The fact that he’s been in a fight has me wanting to ask a million questions, but I know he won’t answer a single one of them.
Entering my room, he shuts the door behind him. “I’m taking a shower,” he announces and walks into my bathroom.
“What the …?” I trail off and jump up from my bed, storming into my bathroom.
He’s leaning inside my shower, turning on the water. “Get the fuck out of my apartment,” I order.
Instead of doing what I say, he reaches up and removes his T-shirt exposing his chest to me. My eyes fall to the bruise over his ribs. Looks like a fucking boot. Jesus, what the fuck has he been doing?
Giving me his back, he undoes his jeans and shoves them down his legs along with his boxer briefs. He’s got more bruises on his legs and back. I swallow nervously and go to step toward him, but he opens the shower door again and steps in.
Going under the sprayer, he places his hands flat on the wall and lowers his head. I watch his stomach suck in while he breathes deeply, making his ribs more prominent. He looks like he’s in pain.
Making up my mind, knowing I’ll probably regret this later, I remove my shirt and underwear, stepping inside.
I place my hands on his back, and he stiffens under my touch. “You okay?” I ask softly, knowing it’s a stupid question but needing him to reassure me that he is.
Instead, he turns around to face me and stumbles into me. I catch him, but his knees give out, and I’m not strong enough to hold him. I fall to the shower floor with him, and he leans his head against the wall, closing his eyes. “I’m so tired,” he mumbles.
The water from the showerhead above beats down on us, making me blink rapidly.
“What happened to you?” I ask, shoving my wet hair off my face and pulling my head away so I’m not directly under the water.
His head falls to the right, and he opens his heavy eyes, meeting mine. “It’s nothing. I just need some sleep.”
My teeth grind at his lie. He’s obviously had the shit beat out of him.
He’s been gone for almost a week. Did he even get any sleep? “Ryat …?” “I’m fine, Blake.” He pats my thigh. “I just want to clean up and go to
bed.”
Letting out a deep breath, I nod. “Okay.”
