Three Broken Promises (One Week Girlfriend #3)(41)
Author: Monica Murphy

“Shit.” Colin sounds furious as he lifts his head and looks around the lot. His jaw is tight, I notice the tic in it he only gets when he’s super mad, and his eyes blaze with angry blue fire. “Anybody see him?”

“None of us were out here except for you.” Steven says this in the most antagonizing tone, one I hope Colin will ignore, but . . .

He doesn’t. Worse, he rises to the bait.

“Are you saying this is my fault, Harper?” Colin’s voice is low, full of quiet fury, and the look on Steven’s face says he definitely notices. And thankfully backs off.

The police show up quickly and question me, but I don’t have much to say. The female officer informs me that there have been a rash of robberies just like this over the last couple of months and I was lucky I didn’t get hurt worse. That a woman who was robbed a few nights ago walking across her apartment parking lot had been hit upside the head with a gun—and was still in the hospital because of her injuries.

That bit of information sends a cold ripple of fear down my spine.

Colin urges me to go to the emergency room so they can at least check me out and make sure I’m okay, but I refuse. I just want to go home, crawl into bed, and go to sleep. Forget this ever happened to me.

“You need to call your bank and cancel all your credit cards,” Colin suggests on the drive home. The police had finally let us go, the female officer giving Colin a stern lecture about replacing the burnt-out lights in the parking lot and making sure the security guard he usually has on duty is actually . . . on duty.

Her chastising had pissed Colin off, not that I could blame him. He already feels responsible enough.

He always feels responsible, especially for my well-being. I wonder if he’s sick of it yet.

“I don’t have any credit cards,” I say wearily, earning a surprised glance from Colin.

“A bank card at least?” he asks. “I’m guessing the guy was looking for cash, but you never know what he might try. Credit card fraud is such a huge problem right now.”

“Yeah. I’ll call my bank in the morning to report it and get it replaced.” I close my eyes, my mind replaying over and over again the way the man rammed his big body into mine, sending me sprawling onto the ground. What would I have done if he’d actually used his hands on me, like what happened to that woman a few nights ago? Would I have fought back? Or just lain there and let him hit me?

“You really should call when we get home,” Colin continues. “Or you could borrow my cell phone and make the call right now.”

“I just . . . I can’t worry about that right now, Colin,” I whisper, wishing he would stop talking. The last thing I need right now is a lecture. And I can feel one coming on, along with a massive headache. “Please just let me sit here and be quiet for a little bit.”

“Fine,” he bites out, sounding irritated but I don’t care. He’s not the one who was just robbed. I know he’s worried about me, but I wish he would just . . . lay off for a second.

I know I should be appreciative of him going into his usual protector mode but for whatever reason, I’m beyond irritated, sick of him always running to my rescue, always trying to tell me what to do.

I’m probably being completely irrational, but seeing him yet again trying to take care of me, take over me really, only proves how badly I need to get away from him. Despite the connection we have, the amazing sex . . . it won’t last. He doesn’t stick.

And neither do I.

The rest of the quick drive home is quiet, and I escape into the house from the garage as soon as he cuts the car’s engine. I have no purse, which means the jackass who took it stole a bunch of my makeup, Colin’s house key, my cell, and my wallet. And again, I can’t help but remember how fat it had been with my night’s tips.

I know Colin is right and I should at least call my bank, but I’m too exhausted to even scrub the makeup off my face, let alone make an actual phone call.

I can barely think and act like a normal human being. I’m in full-blown zombie mode as I move through the house, my brain blank, my body taking me where I need to go like I’m on autopilot.

Entering my room, I flick on the lights and stare at my reflection in the mirror that hangs over the dresser. My cheeks are streaked with mascara-stained tears that I don’t even remember crying. My face is swollen, my eyes are bloodshot, and I look terrible.

Great.

Looking down, I see that the hem of my dress is torn and my knees are still bloody and scraped. With a sigh, I head into the bathroom to clean up my wounds, but Colin is already in there, searching through the drawers until he comes up with antibiotic cream and Band-Aids.

I watch him from where I stand in the doorway, both loathing and appreciating his effort to take care of me in every way he can. I should be touched that he would do all of this, as though he’s my big brother or something. My champion, my knight in shining armor coming to rescue me on his mighty steed.

“Let me help you,” he says the moment he notices me standing there watching him. “Come here.”

I walk inside the small bathroom and sit on the toilet seat, my skirt rising up and revealing my bloodied knees. He finds a clean washcloth in a drawer and dampens it with cool water under the faucet, then gently presses it to my left knee.

Wincing, I hiss in a breath, surprised at how much the scrape hurts. Colin dabs at my skin, his brows furrowed as he studies my knee.

“You have bits of rock in this one,” he says as he reaches out with his other hand and carefully flicks them away. “Doesn’t look serious, though.”

“It hurts,” I murmur, hating how pitiful I sound.

“Sorry.” He flashes me a tight, sympathetic smile. “Your knees will look like hell for about a week with the bandages on them, but hey, maybe you could start a new trend.” He’s trying to joke, to lighten the moment as he dabs the antibiotic cream on my knee and then places a Band-Aid on the wound, but it’s not working.

“What sort of trend would that be?” I ask once he starts in on my other knee. “Hold-up Chic?”

He shoots me a look but never lets up on his tending of my other knee. His touch is so gentle, the look on his face equally so, and watching him fills me with both pleasure and sadness. It makes no sense, the confusion swirling in my brain. Why do I resent Colin for wanting to take care of me? I should be appreciative. I should hug him and thank him for being there for me in my time of need.