Whisper (Skins Book 2) by Garrett Leigh

Author:Garrett Leigh [Leigh, Garrett]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Fox Love Press
Published: 2018-04-30T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Joe

It was like I’d been hit by a bus, and then the bus kept coming, driving over my abdomen again and again, crushing my insides. Squeezing them. Twisting them. And then clobbering me around the head with a hammer for good measure.

I’d always been shit at staying put when I was hurt. The nurses kept telling me to lie down, to rest and wait for the doctor to come back and give me more tramadol—whatever the hell that was. But I couldn’t stay still. It hurt too much. Besides, however badly Shadow had fucked me, I couldn’t blame him. He was wild—always had been—and I had to get back to him before someone else did something stupid . . . like walk into his field with a phone in their pocket.

For the hundredth time, I curled my arms beneath me and tried to push myself up.

For the hundred-and-first time, the butcher in my belly kept me down.

Someone touched my shoulder—a nurse. “Come on now, sweetie. You need to lie down and rest. You’re going to hurt yourself more if you don’t keep still.”

I shrugged her off. Her hands were light but felt like spikes against my heated skin. My head swam and I gasped for breath, despite the tubes blasting arctic air up my nose. The panic that had consumed me when I’d come round amped up a notch. I’d been kicked by horses before—even knocked out by them—but I’d never felt pain like this. I was dying, I was sure of it.

Dramatic? Possibly, but it hurt so fucking much.

I curled up on the bed again, cringing against waves of cramp-wreaked havoc in my gut that spread through my torso and shoulders. Jesus-fucking-Christ. The doctor had warned me that it would get worse before it got better, but that didn’t make it any easier to take. I buried my head in my arms and longed for Harry. The time between Shadow kicking me and waking up in this damn, fucking bed was a blur, but Harry had been with me for a while, I was sure of it, and I craved his touch now more than I ever had. Harry, I need you.

Sometime later, gentle hands cupped my face, stroked my cheek, and rubbed the back of my neck. The sound that escaped me in response was piteous, but I didn’t care. Harry was inexplicably perched on the edge of the bed from hell, and nothing else mattered. My battered body was instantly drawn to him, seeking out his warmth like it could soothe every ache and pain. I collided with his muscular thigh and fumbled for any part of him that I could reach. He smelled like the farm, of horses and hay. He smelled like home. “Harry?”

“It’s me. Easy, mate. I’m here.”

“Harry—I can’t—it hurts so much.”

“I know.” Harry found my hand and squeezed, then he spoke over me to someone else. “Is he up to date with his pain relief?”

“Yes,” the familiar nurse said. “He can’t have any more until the consultant has seen him again.

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