The Switch (9 page)

CHAPTER 9

Shelby

It’s Chase. . . coming in to rescue me.

TIME PASSES, THOUGH
I can’t make out how much. I know I fell asleep in Chase’s arms. I know my leg still hurts. I know everything that led up to being stabbed and now being in my parents’ cabin. I even know the few times Chase has gotten up to leave me and when he’s returned, but I can’t make out how long he was gone for.

After many a false start, I’m finally
able to pull myself out of the haze. It’s gradual, but I begin to make out my surroundings. I draw my eyes open and see that it’s sunny outside, though I can’t make out if it’s earlier or later in the day. I let out a yawn and my head falls back, hitting Chase’s hard chest. He wakes with a jump from beneath me. Tilting my head back, I give him an apologetic look.

“Sorry,” I whisper. My throat is raspy and dry from the lack of water and way too much bourbon. Even though I’d love a glass of water right now, I don’t want to disturb the coziness of being wrapped in Chase’s warm body.

“How are you feeling?” he asks. My cheeks heat under his gaze, certain he knows how much I’m enjoying his closeness.

“Better,” I croak and shift to turn in his arms. “Thank you
 . . . for everything.”

Chase’s face gives nothing away. He just gives me a soft smile and rubs my upper arms to keep me warm. I cuddle into him, refusing to move.

“I’m just doing my job. At least, I think I’m just doing my job.”

“Second guessing your choices, Officer Guilliot?” The second the words leave my mouth, I regret them. I don’t want to encourage Chase to think of his time with me as a mistake. He opens his mouth
, then looks down at me, and thinking better of it, he shakes his head. “What is it?”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I feel a little out of my element here. I only been in uniform a week now
, and already I’m starting to worry I’m going to lose my badge,” he says. His tone is flat and emotionless.

This is a conversation I really don’t want to have. I want to stick my head in the dirt so I can’t hear this. For whatever reason, Chase’s opinion matters to me
, and the thought that I’ve dragged him into a mess that’s going to cost him his badge—something that clearly matters to him—distresses me greatly. I never should have opened my big mouth.

The guilt washes over me—that I’ve destroyed one more person’s life—and a stray tear escapes. I turn my head away quickly, but it’s not fast enough. Chase stops me, brings his hands up to cup my face, and wipes my tears away. I suck the rest back in and squeeze my eyes shut, barely able to stand looking so ridiculous in front of him.

His hand slides up to my forehead, and he smiles. “Hey, you’re finally drying out.”

I don’t move as I watch him. His eyes move across my face, searching for something I don’t quite understand. As he removes his hand
, he bends his head down over my shoulder and toward my lap. He’s angled his face closer to mine, like an invitation. I inhale, breathing him in, and suddenly, I’m overcome by his presence. A mixture of sweat, dirt, and soap fills my nose.

I want to kiss him
. I want him to kiss me, to show me he wants me. I want his acceptance and his understanding. I want to know he doesn’t think I’m a total screw up and that I am a good person—all evidence to the contrary. In a matter of hours, Chase Guilliot has crawled under my skin and taken up residence.

His hand moves slowly over my wounded thigh and right toward the bandage. His path is slow, unsure, but steady, and his eyes are focused. I notice that his lips are parted, his breathing
unfaltering, and his attention is one hundred percent on the task at hand. But he’s so close, too close, and I can’t just let him get away.

I lean in, stealing this moment between us, forcing it even, and place my lips on his. It takes half a second for his hand to stop its slow trail and his breathing to change from the steady rhythm to its now faster-paced
, frantic breathing. When he doesn’t respond, I press my lips more firmly against his. Another moment passes before he draws in a breath, and his hand leaves my thigh and reappears behind my head, holding me in place. I close my eyes as he draws open his lips and then crashes them onto my own. Just as my brain process what’s happening—that Chase is kissing me back—he pulls away. He drags his body backward and angles mine to the side, allowing him more room. Then he’s gone. He’s stood up, and he’s walking across the room to the side door, and he’s shutting the door behind him.

I lay in bed a moment longer, annoyed and frustrated. I don’t really know what it is about Chase that draws me to him. It could be the predicament I’m in
—unable to really help myself and on the run—or it could just be him. He’s an attractive man, well-built and tan, a strong jaw, and deep set brown eyes. No doubt, I appreciate the view. But I think it’s more than that. Not that it matters.

I look around the room, feeling the urge to do something. I can’t just
lie in this bed for however long without anything to do. Before I can talk myself out of it, I’m carefully peeling back the bandage on my leg and peeking at Chase’s handiwork. I can’t see much. Though the bandage isn’t really tight, it is well-wrapped. There’s little redness and the swelling has definitely gone down. I’m satisfied with what I’ve seen, though a new problem has caught my attention. I’m dirty. Not just typical August it’s-so-hot-outside-you-think-you-might-melt dirty, but covered-in-sweat-blood-and-grime kind of dirty. And even though the blood has been washed away, it’s like I can still feel it on my skin. The thought sickens me. I’ve never been particularly strong stomached.

I spy the bathroom door from my position on the bed. The bathroom, like the cabin itself, is small but tidy. Testing the waters, I guide my injured leg toward the edge of the bed
while sucking a deep breath, preparing for the onslaught of blinding pain I’m sure is to come. But there is no pain. Only a mild pinching and a slight bit of discomfort. I take another deep breath, say a prayer, and thank my lucky stars that I’m able to move.

My newfound freedom makes me antsy, and I decide to go for broke. Feeling brave, I wiggle towards the edge of the bed and slide myself into a standing position, one hand on the side table and the other pushing into the mattress. I let my injured leg hold only a small amount of weight. I may be brave
, but I’m not stupid enough to assume that I can get up and walk normally. The bathroom door is four, maybe five feet away.

Still, I don
’t want to injure myself further. On unsteady footing, I hop-shimmy toward the bathroom door. With my arms stretched out, I am less than a foot away. And it’s then when I can no longer hold myself upright. I reach out frantically for the frame of the door, and thankfully my hands take purchase before I go crashing to the wooden floor. I hold on to the door frame for dear life and drag my crippled body into the small bathroom. It takes some trickery, but I manage to turn on the shower with little issue. Inside the shower stall, I see that mom has been by and restocked.

I begin to strip off my clothes and ready myself for the shower when I realize I probably should not get the bandages wet. Carefully, I plop down on the toilet and look around the bathroom. There
’s not much in here, just a decent-sized shower stall, a toilet, a sink with a small vanity beneath, and a wastebasket. An idea springs to mind, and I maneuver myself toward the vanity and begin to look through the drawers. In the bottom drawer is a mostly used roll of duct tape. It's not fancy, but it will have to do.

Duct tape in hand, I survey the rest of the room, trying desperately to find something to cover my bandage. Then I spot it
—the plastic bag lining the wastebasket. I lean over, thankful to find the basket is empty. I retrieve the plastic bag and size it up. It’s just large enough to wrap around my leg to keep the bandages dry. I let out a sigh of relief that I won’t have to wait here until Chase returns for a better option. He’s rejected me already. I’m not about to ask him for a sponge bath.

Once I
’m wrapped up and I’ve duct-taped the hell out of my thigh, I stand up and, on wobbly legs, remove the last of my clothing.

Getting into the shower proves to be more difficult than I imagined. The lip into the shower is but a few inches high, and yet those few inches feel as far away as home does right now. Stepping inside, my leg feels like it
’s on fire. The pain isn’t quite blinding, but it is intense. Shooting up from my toes straight up my spine, the hot wave of hurt engulfs me, and I let out a strangled cry.

I push through the pain and lean up against the tile wall. This position essentially renders one of my arms
inoperable, but it does take some of the weight off of my injured leg. I manage to shampoo and condition my hair without incident, but it is when I lather up my skin for much-needed scrub that I begin to lose my balance. I make it through washing my torso arms and lower back before I have to drop the soap and frantically reach out for something to steady myself with.

My arms fly up to the top of the shower stall as I grab on, and I practically burst into tears at the relief of been able to reach. But it isn't enough
, and my splayed position forces me off balance even more, sending me to the tile floor. On the way down, I’m able to push off the wall when I see that I’m about to land on my injured leg, and instead, I fall on my healthy side.

I cry out from awful pain that shoots up my hip. My scream is deafening to my own ears. Just when I think that matters cannot get worse
—I mean how could they?—I hear the door to the cabin swing open and, in a rush, heavy, masculine footfalls. Fear strikes me in the heart as I realize it’s Chase. . . coming in to rescue me. I look around and take in my naked body. I have nothing to cover me. I was in such a hurry to get in the shower that I didn’t even look around for a clean towel before I hopped in.

The shower door swings open
, and I move to cover myself. The incredible pain in my right hip and the burning sensation in my wounded left keep me from efficiently covering anything. I use one hand to cover my lower portion and the other arm to cover my breasts. Chase’s eyes travel up my legs, to my bent waist, and then I flush under his heated gaze.

The position I
’ve found myself in is much too intimate for my liking. Not that I haven’t considered what it would be like to be with Chase—it’s more that I’m hurt and vulnerable, and I’m already relying on him for so much.

CHAPTER 10

Shelby

Oh, you mean the whole naked thing?

“WHAT IN THE
hell were you thinking, Shelby?” Chase’s tone is harsh, his words meant to deride and shame me. I can’t say that I blame him for being angry. I’m freshly stitched and clearly in no position to be showering alone. Still, I don’t like the look he’s shooting my way.

“
You were being an ass. I certainly was not going to ask for help.”

He leans forward, arms stretched out
, and reaches for me. I try to wiggle backward to evade his grasp, but it’s no use. I have nowhere to go, and I can’t even use my hands to aid in my escape. That is, unless I want to bare myself to him fully. The best I can think is to shut my eyes tightly and hope that he, at the very least, finds my naked form attractive. Sure, I certainly have better things to worry about, but I won’t deny wanting to be found attractive by a handsome male.

“
Am I hurting you?” Chase’s voice is gentler now, like he is really afraid of the answer.

I know his medical skills are limited and he
’s done his best. I’m betting he’s worried about my stitches breaking open and trying to repair the damage on his own. Quite frankly, it’s not necessarily something I would find attractive myself. Now that I’m sober and a portion of the pain has subsided, I find myself less inclined to jump at the chance for Chase to play doctor. I’ve heard far too many horror stories from Becca, the nurse, to not have a mild fear of the consequences of inadequately performed medical attention. I don’t voice this to Chase. He has enough on his plate already.

“
No, why?” My eyes are still clamped shut in embarrassment, and I can’t find it in myself to force them open.

“
You look like you’re in pain,” he says.

Oh, that.

“Not pain,” I confess. “Mortification.” I think this nicely wraps up our conversation on the subject, but my assumption proves how very little I know about Chase Guilliot.

“
Mortification?”

Not missing a beat, Chase bends down and slips me into his arms, his hands remaining in as chaste of positioning as possible. I’m half
-inclined to hold on, until I remember the only thing stopping Chase from practically getting to third base are my arms covering up the very little flesh that’s not exposed. With my eyes still closed I readjust my hands and hope I’ve covered all prudent parts of my flesh.

“
Oh, you mean the whole naked thing?” Chases laughter rings throughout the cabin as he takes a few long strides and then stops jostling me in the process.

When attempting to shower after
a stab wound to the leg, this is not what I imagined the outcome to be. Splitting open my wound, sure. Busting my hip bone, sure. Even the scenario I dreamed up where I was unable to finish my shower and Chase had to come in to soap up my sweaty, broken frame was more appealing than the reality. I want to channel my braver side, the part of me that flirts unabashedly and has zero shame about her naked form, but right now it’s as if she’s never existed. That version of Shelby Brignac feels like nothing more than a figment of my imagination.

Chase lowers me to the bed, and very slowly, all too slowly, removes his arms out from under me. I wiggle around, hoping to locate a spare blanket with my toes, but nothing is to be found. I surreptitiously peek at my surroundings only to realize I
’m not on the bed. I flush under his heated gaze.

I catch Chase with his arms folded over his chest
, his chin pointed down toward me. Very slowly, he shakes his head from left to right and an evil smile breaks through. The damn thing even lights up his eyes. I want play dumb and ask what he finds so amusing, but again, the vixen has left the building.

“
Here’s the deal, Shelby. I don’t really know you, and you don’t really know me. All I know is you’re someone who got herself into a whole heap of trouble and now needs help getting out of it. I’m willing to play the part of the dutiful hero, saving your ass left, right, and sideways, but you’re going to have to start being straight with me.”

The evil grin on his face has slid slightly and no longer reaches his eyes. Whatever amusement he found in this situation before is now gone. I want to ask him what the hell he’s talking about, what assumption he
’s making and why, but all I can think of is how refreshing, if not embarrassing, it is to have ditched the clothes in the August heat. A stupid thought, sure, but that’s exactly what August in Louisiana will do to a person—it’ll make them stupider than a crawfish. At least that’s what my dad has always said. And before I can think any more on my dad’s wisdom, Chase continues.

“Do you have any idea how badly you could
’ve hurt yourself? You could’ve busted open your stitches, and then I’d really have to take you to the ER. Can you imagine how well that would’ve gone over? I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but your ass is kind of in a sling here.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I ask, feeling the brave, ballsy Shelby returning to me. Internally, I breathe a sigh of relief, thankful that she’s not left me entirely. Now is not the time to fall apart and forget why I started all this to begin with. Becca has to be my priority here
, and anything I can do to get her out of this mess I’ve put her in can be my only goal. Pissing off Chase when I’m half crippled is a bad idea. I clear my throat, soften my tone, and ask again. “What do you mean?”

“What kind of game are you running here?” he asks.

I blanch, not expecting that. I flush a moment before I forget that whole being kind thing, and my face heats in anger.

“You kiss me
, and then when I walk away, you get pissed enough that you manufacture some reason to get naked and drag me in here to save your ass?”

“Oh, you got me pegged, don’t you?” I seethe. Warm air rushes in from the open windows and slides over my bare skin
, reminding me that I’m naked. But this is the Shelby that cares little about that. I’m one half-assed thought away from throwing my arms out in frustration and saying to hell with this game of emotional tug-of-war. I don’t want to play this game, whatever it is. I’m attracted to him, sure. He’s attracted to me, I can tell. But this, us together, isn’t going to work out. I might as well stop allowing myself to have those kinds of thoughts. They’re useless.

“
You know absolutely nothing about me! Yeah, I’m some dumb girl who got herself into a whole heap of trouble. I messed up, made some really stupid mistakes, and got caught. Congratulations, Officer Guilliot. You’ve made your point. You don’t know me, and I sure as hell don’t know you. You have every right not to trust me.”

I looked down at
the bare skin of my lap and pull my lower lip between my teeth to keep from crying. I can’t keep showing him how weak I am, especially when I have to be able to convince him that we need to be more proactive in Becca’s rescue. I don’t know the Sarge guy, have no idea what he’s capable of, and even less idea where his loyalties lie. I’m not trusting anyone else to get Becca back safely.

As the self-loathing settles in
, I feel a thick scratchy blanket settle over my lap. Now that my lower half is covered, I take a moment to pull up to blanket and cover my chest. Despite being naked beneath the blanket, I feel on more even footing with Chase. It’s a small gift, but it puts an end to my humility.

I focus on what he was saying. He thinks I staged the fall so I
could get him in the bathroom with me while I was naked. With my focus now redirected to that misconception, my anger comes back in full force.

“
And for the record, what just happened to me is humiliating. I’m glad you got a good chuckle out of it, but that most certainly was not for your benefit.”

I fight to regulate my breathing and focus on my slightly shaking hands. I feel his presence grow closer as he leans over the couch. He brings his right hand around and behind my neck with a firm but gentle grip. He brings his lips down to my temple
, toward the corner my hairline, and places a gentle kiss.

“I’m sorry
. I have no freaking clue what I’m doing here,” Chase says.

I tilt my head up, surprised by his sudden shift in mood. Though I don’t know why I’m still shocked when his mood goes from
zero to sixty. I may have only known him for about a day, but already I get a pretty clear sense of what he’s about. He’s about doing right and living well, at least from what I can tell, and this mess with Victor and Becca has really put a damper on his first days in uniform.

“Neither do I,” I whisper.

At least I’m trying to convince myself that I have no idea what I’m doing, but in reality I know all too well. I had a serious knack for going after the guys who were either unattainable or just plain all wrong for me. But this takes the cake.

In all likelihood when this is said and done, Chase is going to have to arrest me for my part in everything that’s gone down. Having feelings for this man is dangerous, and even though I know I should try to fight them, I can’t. I’m not strong enough to tell myself no, to do right by Chase, and to keep this strictly business.

“I like this,” I say. My right hand slides up his neck and hooks them from the back. I keep them there close to me not wanting to let him get away. I can’t exactly explain what it is about Chase that draws me to him. But every minute I spend in his presence, the stronger it gets and the less able I am to let him walk away. I tip my chin up and run my nose along his jaw, my body begging for more contact. Chase barely reacts, but I hear it—the sound of his beating heart.

“This is a bad fucking idea.” His voice washes over the side of my face
, sending tingles up my spine.

I want to correct them and tell him that he’s wrong. But I can’t.

“Then tell me to stop,” I say.

But he doesn’t.