33. Charlotte

33

CHARLOTTE

I van passes out in my lap, and I stare down at him, terrified into silence. He's still breathing, I can see that—but for how long?

Thankfully, the backpack with our things in it was still on Ivan when we clambered into the taxi. It's fallen to the floorboard, bloodied on the outside, but the first-aid kit is in there. I just have to get somewhere, and I can try to patch Ivan up. I can try?—

I have no idea how badly he's hurt. I know better than to go to a hospital. Even with our new identification, while we're still in Vegas, it's a bad idea. The driver is still yelling at me to pick a location, and I reach down, grabbing the road atlas out of the backpack. I flip it open, look for the first smallish-looking town name that's outside of Vegas proper, and tell him to go there.

And then I sink back against the seat, cradling Ivan in my lap as the taxi speeds on.

When we get into town, the driver glances back at me. "Where do you want to go?" he asks curtly, and I pinch the bridge of my nose, exhaustion sweeping over me.

"A motel. Any out-of-the-way motel."

He nods, driving on until we find a two-story roadside motel. He stops in front of it, and I reach into Ivan's pocket, finding another few bills that I pull out. "Another three hundred," I tell him, "if you'll wait while I get the room and help me get him into it."

"Sure." He starts to reach for the money, and I yank my hand back.

"You can have it once you get him into the room, and you walk out again, without hurting either of us. Understand?" My voice doesn't even sound like my own. A couple of weeks ago, I wouldn't have been able to imagine saying anything like that. But now, it just seems like common sense.

The driver narrows his eyes at me, then nods. "Fine. Get the room. Hurry up."

I slide out from under Ivan, trying not to jostle him. My legs are shaky as I hurry to the office, praying they have a vacant room. From what I can see of the empty parking lot, I'd be surprised if they didn't. The bored-looking clerk barely glances at me as I request a ground floor room, paying in cash that sticks together a little with blood as I hand it over. The clerk doesn't seem to care, which doesn't bode all that well for this particular spot, but there's no time for me to worry about that. I glance back repeatedly as I wait for the key, and every time I look, I'm terrified that the driver will have taken off anyway, despite the fact that I took all of the cash out of Ivan's pockets to avoid any incentive for him to do exactly that.

The clerk hands me a key on a rusted white tag, and I grab it, muttering a quick "thank you," as I rush back to the taxi.

The driver helps me half-carry, half-drag Ivan to the room, only a few yards from where he parked. It's like every other motel room that Ivan and I stayed at on the way here, except a little worse—dingy, and this one smells of cigarettes. But it's the best I can do right now. Ivan is breathing shallowly, and I'm terrified that at any moment it's going to stop.

"Money?" The driver shoves his hand out and I point at the door.

"Outside."

The moment he steps out, I shove three hundred dollars at him. He takes it, and I slam the door so quickly that it almost catches his hand, locking and latching it, my heart pounding.

I'm alone. Not physically, but Ivan isn't going to be able to help me right now if something happens. I don't even know if I can help him.

I have to. I have to figure it out.

One thing at a time, I reason. I grab the first-aid kit out of the backpack, and start to strip Ivan out of his clothes. The long-sleeved henley he was wearing goes first, and I drag the blood-soaked fabric over his head, stifling a cry as I see the damage that the bullets did.

One of them tore through his shoulder. From what I can see, it left a clean exit wound, although I don't really know enough about this kind of thing to be sure. Blood is congealing around it, and Ivan is pale, his skin waxy.

The other ripped across his side, leaving torn flesh dangling from an open wound. Tears fill my eyes as I look at it, and I know this is beyond me. It's beyond the cheap first-aid kit sitting on the bed. It's beyond any skill or supplies I have, but I have to do my best.

I'm all Ivan has right now.

And he's all you have.

It's the truth, now. I have new identification, everything I need for my new life. A passport, a birth certificate, a license, all saying Anna Blackwood , a name that doesn't feel real and that I certainly wouldn't have picked for myself. But it's a plain name. A simple name, one that thousands of other people have, one that can let me disappear.

I had thought that I was still going to leave Ivan behind. When "Dave" gave me my new identification earlier, I thought that I would walk away. But if I learned anything from what just happened, it's that I have to face a single, impossible truth that I've known for a while, and just haven't wanted to admit.

I love Ivan, too. And I can't walk away from him.

I open up the first-aid kit, getting out what I have that I can use to patch him up. Antiseptic wipes, antibiotic cream, gauze pads, bandages. I spread it across the bed, picking up each individual item as I need it, and as I get to work, I talk to him.

I hope he'll hear it, somehow, and it will keep him from slipping away.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you this before," I say softly, as I start to clean away the blood. "I should have told you that as soon as you said it to me in the house of mirrors. But I was scared. I've been scared for a while, I guess. Scared of how I feel about you, scared of what that means, and scared to admit how long I really think I've known."

I start to wipe the alcohol over the wounds, wincing at the thought of it against the raw flesh. But Ivan is passed out so deeply that he doesn't stir—doesn't even flinch. Still, I keep speaking, hoping that some part of it will get through to him.

"All of this happened the wrong way. We both know it. The things you did were wrong. But you were right when you told me I was seeking out danger. That I was seeking out something different, something that I knew I shouldn't have. And even though I'm devastated over everything I've lost—I realized today, maybe too late, that I would be devastated if I lost you, too."

I uncap the antibiotic ointment, starting to spread it across the wounds. "My life was meaningless and grey before you. I had people who meant something to me—who meant a lot to me, like Jaz and Sarah and Zoe. I had others who gave my life meaning, but I hadn't given it any meaning for myself. I was too afraid to give myself anything that I wanted. And then I met you—and you didn't just give it meaning. You made me feel like I could do it for myself. Like I could reach out, and take the things I wanted, without being ashamed about it. Like I could live my life without having to apologize for who I was, adventurous or not. Brave or not. And in the process of that, I've found out I'm actually a lot braver than I thought I was."

I unwrap a gauze pad, pressing it over the wound on his shoulder, taping it down with medical tape. "I feel alive, now. Scared, and a little bit lost, but alive. I don't know how we move forward from this, but I want to. I don't want to go our separate ways, and I don't want to leave you behind. And even if everything was wrong from the beginning—I do believe you, Ivan. I believe you love me. I believe you care about me. I believe you want me…and I want you, too."

I finish bandaging his side, sitting back as I look at him. He's very still, breathing shallowly, and his skin still has that waxy grey cast. But there's nothing else I can do but wait.

I pack up everything left in the first-aid kit, setting it aside. I wash my hands, stripping off my blood-stained clothes, and I shower quickly, not wanting to leave Ivan alone for too long.

When I come out, he's still passed out, but still breathing. I crawl into bed next to him, once again careful not to jostle him. I'm exhausted, but I don't want to fall asleep. I'm terrified that when I wake up, he will have stopped breathing.

There's nothing more I can do, except stay with him, but I lay there fighting sleep for a long time anyway. Sleep comes all the same, the exhaustion of the past weeks and the day we just went through catching up, and it drags me under eventually.

It's fully dark when I wake up again. The clock next to the bed says it's after one in the morning. My stomach is hollow, grumbling from how hungry I am, but there's no food in the room and I don't dare go out for anything. I push myself up on one elbow, brushing my hair out of my face, and my heart leaps when I see Ivan blink his eyes.

"You're awake!" I gasp it aloud, and Ivan lets out a low groan, opening his eyes a little wider.

"I am. I think." He swallows, and it sounds sticky. "Water?"

"Oh! Hold on." I jump up, fumbling through the backpack for a bottle. "Do you want ibuprofen?"

"Anything." He coughs, and lets out a moan of pain. "Oh, god. Being shot sucks so fucking much."

I stare at him for a moment. "You're about to tell me this isn't your first time, aren't you?"

"It's definitely not. But I don't think it's ever been this bad before. Or maybe I just blocked it out." He takes the water and ibuprofen from me. "Thank you."

"I tried to patch you up. I don't know—" I frown, looking at the bandages, which have turned a bit pink from the blood trickle. "I think it helped."

"I feel like death warmed over, but I'm alive, so I'd say it definitely helped." Ivan manages a crooked smile. "And you said you love me, so that helped, too. And that you'd be—what was it? Devastated if you lost me."

My eyes widen. "You heard all of that? I thought you were passed out?"

"Maybe my next career will be acting." Ivan's smile spreads, though it's still weaker than usual. "Staying quiet while you put straight alcohol on raw gunshot wounds was definitely a challenge. But worth it, to keep you talking."

"You—" I lunge for him, stopping myself just in time before I accidentally hurt him. "I'm going to get you back for that later. When you're better."

"Just as long as you're still with me, I don't care." Ivan's gaze sweeps over me, and I see a hungry look flicker into his eyes, one that I hadn't expected in his current state. He's still shirtless, and as I let myself briefly look him over—telling myself that I'm just making sure he's otherwise uninjured—I see the ridge of his cock thickening against the front of his jeans.

" Ivan ." I stare at him. "You lost way too much blood for that to actually be happening."

"You would think." Ivan shifts, wincing. He starts to raise his hand, as if to reach down and adjust his rapidly hardening cock, but that seems to hurt too much, and he drops it again. "Fuck. God, just looking at you makes me hard."

I look down at myself. "I'm wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants."

"It doesn't matter," he assures me. "Just you being in the same room is enough to turn me on. Every last ounce of blood that was still in my body is in my cock right now. God, I'm so hard it fucking hurts." He winces, and then looks over at me, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "You wouldn't want me to be in pain, would you? You went to a lot of trouble to patch me up."

I narrow my eyes at him. "What do you want me to do about it?"

I meant it to be teasing, but Ivan looks at me with utter, desperate sincerity in his face and voice. "Your mouth," he manages, his voice breathless. "Please, little dove. Give me your mouth."

The way he says it sends a jolt of hot arousal flooding through me. I nod, suddenly speechless, and shift over between his legs, sliding down as I reach for the button of his jeans. "You'll tell me to stop if this hurts you, right?" I ask cautiously, and Ivan nods.

"I will, but— fuck , please, Charlotte."

He moans as I undo the button of his jeans, his hips arching upwards, his cock a hard line threatening to burst out of his zipper. "Hearing you tell me you want me," he pants, "made me so fucking needy. I need you to make me come. Knowing you want to stay with me—god, I fucking need you right now. If I could, I'd pin you down to the bed and fuck you until you screamed my name. But I can't, so—" He groans again as I drag his zipper down, his cock pushing free of his boxers before I can even reach in and slip it out. "Make me come. Please. Make yourself come while you suck me. Please ?—"

The sound he makes when I wrap my lips around his swollen cockhead is enough to send a flood of arousal soaking between my legs. His hips buck weakly upwards, begging for more as I slide my mouth down his length, his tip already wet with pre-cum. I lift my hips enough to push my other hand beneath myself, slipping my fingers into my panties as I start to lick and suck my way up and down Ivan's hard shaft. I'm drenched, coating my own fingers the second I slide them over my slippery clit and I gasp as I slide my mouth up, sucking hard at his cockhead before I go down again, letting him push into my throat.

I'm close already. I grind against my hand, rubbing my clit faster as I run my tongue up and down, fluttering it just under his tip. Ivan moans, his eyes closing, his head tipping back as I work his cock, wrapping my hand around the base of it as I suck hard.

"Fuck, yes—" He gasps, and I moan as I feel my own orgasm approaching. "Get on top of me. I want to feel you come around my cock. I want to fill you up."

"Ivan—"

"Just do it. Please, dove. I need to feel you come on me."

His voice is so desperate, so full of desire for me, that I can't tell him no. I sit up, letting go of his cock, and he moans, looking at me with lust-darkened eyes.

"Take my jeans off," he orders, and the command in his voice sends a shiver down my spine.

"I don't have to do anything," I tease him, stripping my t-shirt over my head. "You can't make me right now."

"I could try," he says in a warning voice. "But I'll say please this once, dove. And then I'll punish you later, when I'm better."

"I'll look forward to it." I make him wait until I've stripped off every last bit of clothing, and then I reach up, dragging his jeans and boxers off as his cock juts up, dripping pre-cum and glistening with my saliva. "You want me to sit on your cock, Ivan? You want me to fuck you?"

His eyes widen a little at that. I've never said anything like that to him before, and that hunger deepens in his gaze, the muscle in his jaw twitching.

"Fuck me, little dove," he groans. "Please."

Carefully, not wanting to bump the bandage on his side, I straddle his hips. I arch up, wrapping my hand around him, and guide him between my thighs, gasping as I feel his swollen tip between my folds.

He feels so good. Better than anything I would have ever imagined, before him. And as I slide down on him, inch by inch, I can see from the tormented lust on his face that it feels the same way for him. That this is the best he's ever had, too.

It's a heady feeling.

I start to ride him, slowly, dragging myself up and down his cock, parting my folds with my fingers so he can watch as I rub my clit. Ivan groans, his hips arching up to meet me with every rocking motion that I make, until we're both breathless and on the edge.

"I'm going to come," he moans. "I'm going to?—"

I start to move off of him, and he shakes his head. "I need to come in you. Let me fill you up, dove. Let me?—"

"We shouldn't." Somehow that makes it sound even better, my orgasm rushing up to meet his as I frantically rub my clit. "I shouldn't let you come in me."

"No, you shouldn't." He moans aloud, hips thrusting up, all of his pain forgotten by this point. "I'll get you a pill tomorrow. It'll be fine. Just let me— fuck , dove, let me fucking come in you. I want to?—"

"I want it, too," I whisper. And even though I know it's reckless, I sink down onto him, clenching around him as my orgasm overtakes me and I throw my head back, grinding on his cock as I come hard.

"Fuck, Charlotte!" Ivan cries out my name as his cock throbs inside of me, hot spurts of cum filling me as he throws his head back, moaning my name again. "Fuck, fuck —" His fingers claw into the bed, moans spilling from his lips as I rock against him, and he gasps for breath as I finally go still, his cum hot inside of me.

I sit like that for a long moment, trying to catch my breath, before I slide off of him. "Let me see," he gasps, and I obey without thinking, rocking back and spreading my legs so that he can see his cum dripping out of me, pearling along my wet folds.

" Fuck ," Ivan moans. "As soon as I'm better, I'm never going to let you out of bed. I'm going to fuck you all day. I'm going to make you come so many fucking times."

"I'm going to hold you to that." I close my legs, sliding up to lie next to him, both of us naked atop the bed. "But right now, I need you to get well. And we need to figure out what we're doing next."

A soft snore escapes Ivan, and I laugh, realizing that he's already fallen asleep, before I even finished speaking. I put a pillow between us, wanting to make sure that I don't accidentally jostle him in his sleep, and I close my eyes.

We will have to figure out what to do in the morning. But for now, this is enough.

For now, I just want to sleep next to him.

—

In the morning, Ivan is stiff and sore and in pain, but he's alive. Despite his objections, I walk down to a nearby diner and get food for us, since neither of us has eaten in nearly twenty-four hours. He manages some eggs and toast, and I scarf down the rest, before throwing away the trash and settling back down onto the bed next to him.

"What now?" I ask quietly, and Ivan rubs his hand through his hair with his good arm, wincing as it tugs at the bandage on his side.

"We're going to have to get a ride to Mexico. It's going to take most of the cash I have left on me, but I can access more once we're out of the country. And then—" He frowns. "Then, I have some other calls to make."

"About what?" I look at him curiously, and Ivan hesitates.

"If we're really going to do this together, you have to trust me," I insist. "What is it?"

Ivan gives me a guarded look. "We'll find a place to hide out. It will take me a couple of days to sort it all out. But I think I can get you back home."

"What?" I blink at him. "But you said?—"

"I know." He lets out a sharp breath. "I don't know. But I have something I can try?—"

"Ivan, you don't have to do anything." I lean forward, catching his gaze with mine. "I've already resigned myself to not going back. And if I have you?—"

"That's the thing." He shakes his head. "I have to fix this, Charlotte. And I will."

"Ivan—"

"I'm not going to let you lose your whole life for me." He looks at me, and I can tell that whatever he's thinking, he's not going to be dissuaded from it.

"Not when you've become my whole life."