Snowed (Boston Rebels Book 3) by RJ Scott & V.L. Locey

Author:RJ Scott & V.L. Locey [Scott, RJ & Locey, V.L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781785642623
Publisher: Love Lane Books Ltd
Published: 2021-12-02T18:30:00+00:00

Eleven

Christian

Too many things happened at once. A squall of wind and snow hit me dead on and yanked the door back out of my hold, peppering my skin with icy shards. There was blood on my porch in the only part of it not buried in snow, under the shelter of a shelf and signs of a scrap between wild animals. Then there was Kyle, who’d crumbled at my side and slumped to the floor as if his strings had been cut. I prioritized because whatever animals dumped a blood and bite covered boot on my porch could well be out there still, and the last thing we needed was for us to be in a battle to the death with an animal. I couldn’t think about the boot or who it belonged to because right now Kyle and I were in danger of freezing to death.

I finally had the door shut and locked against the storm and any unseen predators, and then I had to work my way through this scene with calm. How was I going to stay calm when Kyle was unconscious? Was this a head injury only manifesting itself now? An aneurysm? His heart? I fell to my knees next to him, checked his pulse, which was steady, and watched as he opened his eyes, blinking slowly.

“Hiding,” he mumbled. “You weren’t there. You weren’t there!” The accusation stung—what had happened to him when I wasn’t there? Was this in Boston? What was going wrong? He had to know I’d be there for him whatever happened.

“I’m here now, Kyle.” I cradled his head and helped him to stand after a short time when he screwed his eyes shut. “Come on, babe, let’s get you up now.” He gripped me, and I had to strain every muscle, so we didn’t end up tumbling to the ground, since I was the only person keeping us upright. He was limper than a noodle, confused and saying random words that made no sense, but finally I managed to get him to the sofa, and he slumped back into the corner, still with his eyes shut.

“I need to remember,” he whispered, his voice changing so he seemed more in control. He pressed fingers to his temples and opened his eyes—his expression bleak. “It’s gone.”

I sat next to him, took one of his hands and held it tight.

“What happened?” I asked, and he closed his eyes again before making a frustrated sound of impatience. “Kyle?”

“I had this thing…” he waved his other hand at his eyes, “it was right there, and it hurt.”

“What thing?” He wasn’t making any sense. “I need to check you over—you might have a concussion.”

“No!” he snapped at me. “I’m okay!”

“Okay.” I attempted to extricate my hand in case he needed space, but he held on so tight I thought he’d cut off my circulation.

“Shit, no, I’m sorry, ignore me. What happened?”

“I don’t know, you’re the one who fainted.”

“I fainted?” He looked so shocked, and a niggle of concern began to worm its way into my thoughts.

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