Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run

Dylan slumped back in the chair, sweat trickling down from his forehead, sliding over the bridge of his nose and along his jaw.

He didn't say a word to Clara. It was always like this between them-a long, silent standoff, both refusing to be the first to break.

Clara shifted uncomfortably, feeling that familiar tension twist inside her. Finally, she reached for a tissue from the box and gently wiped the sweat from his cheek.

His lashes fluttered, and he turned his face away, refusing to meet her eyes.

But even as she dabbed at his skin, Dylan could still catch that faint scent that always lingered around Clara. She never wore perfume, but somehow there was something about her-something warm and clean, uniquely hers.

Clara tossed the used tissue aside, her gaze landing on his suit jacket, now stained dark with blood. Her worry spiked.

"Mr. Dylan, we're almost at the hospital. Just hang on a bit longer, okay?"

If anyone could tough it out, it was Dylan.

The rest of the car ride passed in tense silence, the air thick with things neither of them said.

By the time they arrived, the hospital was already prepared. As soon as they pulled up, a team of doctors hurried out to meet them and swept Dylan inside.

Clara stood off to the side, watching as he shrugged off his jacket. The sight of his back-crisscrossed with fresh, raw wounds-made her stomach twist.

His white shirt was ruined, stuck to the torn skin.

Every time the fabric was peeled away, his muscles flinched, even though he tried not to show it.

There were several doctors in the room, and Aiden was there too. Out of nowhere, a crazy idea popped into Clara's mind-should she try to run while everyone was distracted?

She inched one foot toward the door, but when she caught another glimpse of Dylan's bloodied back, her feet refused to move.

She was still clutching the tissues. Taking a steadying breath, she slipped past the doctors and gently wiped the sweat from Dylan's cheek again.

He looked up at her, his eyes meeting hers and just... staying there.

Clara felt awkward under his gaze. "What? Do I have something on my face?"

He didn't answer, just kept staring at her.

She finished wiping his face, then quickly stepped back.

One of the doctors finished bandaging his wounds and gave her a list of instructions. "No showers for a month, change the dressings every two days, eat as bland as possible."

Then the doctor turned to Clara. "Did you get all that?"

It took her a second to realize he was talking to her. She nodded, a little flustered.

"Yeah, I got it."

The doctor finally relaxed, wiping

sweat from his own brow. He

couldn't help but smile. "You two are

a great couple. Mr. Dylan, when dnoveldrama

was patching you up, your

looked so worried-like she was hurting right along with you. I hope

you two stay happy together."

Clara froze, a wave of embarrassment washing over her. "Wait, you've got it all

wrong. Anyone would feel that way seeing injuries like that."

The doctor just laughed, covering his mouth. "I get it, I get it. Newlyweds are always shy."

The more she tried to explain, the worse it sounded.

She shut her mouth and just mumbled a quick "Mm."

Once the doctors left, it was just her and Dylan.

Now that his wounds were taken care of, maybe this was her chance to say she wanted to leave. She hesitated, searching for the right words. Before she could open her mouth, Dylan tried to stand.

Whatever punishment he'd been through must have messed up his legs-he stumbled forward.

Clara's reflexes kicked in and she reached out, catching him before he could fall, nearly losing her own balance and bumping into the wall.

She steadied them both, letting out a shaky breath. "Are you okay?"

Dylan's head dropped against her neck, and when she spoke, he nuzzled in closer.

Clara stiffened, her whole body going tense. Her first instinct was to push him away, but remembering how unsteady he was, she just couldn't do it.

She swallowed, forcing herself to hold him up. "Let's get you downstairs. We'll head back to Palm Bay first, okay?"

He murmured in agreement, but didn't move his head from where it rested on her shoulder.

Clara wasn't used to him being like this.

She was used to Z being the one who needed her, not Dylan.