Bound to my Enemy novel Chapter 66

Chapter 66: Chapter 66.

"He doesn’t like being challenged," Aaron says. "Especially in front of other men."

I look down at my hands only to see my fingers are still shaking

He stands carefully and rolls his sleeve back down.

"You don’t owe me an apology," he adds. "You didn’t pull the trigger."

I look up at him. "But I caused it."

He doesn’t answer that.

Instead, he reaches for his jacket. "You should go before he comes looking."

"I will," I say. "I just needed you to hear it from me."

He nods once. "I heard you."

I turn to leave, then stop at the door.

"Aaron?"

"Yes."

"I’m glad it was your arm," I say quietly. "Not your head."

Despite himself he lets out a full bellied laugh. "Me too ma’am, me too"

————————————————————

I don’t see Zane all day when I wake up the next day.

Not at breakfast, not in the hallways. I keep my head down and stay in the kitchen with Margaret because it’s easier there. The work is simple and and doesn’t shoot freakng guns at people.

Margaret doesn’t push me, she hands me vegetables to wash, herbs to strip, bowls to carry from one counter to another. When my head swims, I lean my hip against the counter and pretend I’m just tired. She notices anyway. She’ll pause mid-task and slide a stool under me without saying a word.

"You’re doing just fine, sweetie." she tells me at some point, not looking at me. "Just don’t rush."

"I’m not," I say, even though I am.

My arms feel heavier than they should. By the time we’re done prepping for dinner, my shoulders ache like I’ve been lifting something far bigger than onions and pots, I’m getting weaker as the days go by. When Margaret finally wipes her hands on her apron and turns to me, she frowns.

"That’s enough for today."

"I’m okay," I say automatically.

She doesn’t argue with me, She just steps closer and puts an arm around my back,and before I can protest she’s guiding me out of the kitchen.

I don’t realize how unsteady I am until my feet drag.

Aaron appears like he’s been hovering nearby the whole time. His arm is still wrapped, the fabric stained faintly pink near the elbow. He looks at Margaret, then at me.

"I’ve got her," he says.

"No, you don’t," Margaret replies. "You’re injured yourself. "

"I can walk,I’m totally fine." I mutter, embarrassed.

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