Better Late, But Never His Again novel Chapter 43

Just as the thought crossed her mind, something lying in the tall grass out of the corner of her eye caught her attention.

She froze, her heart skipping a beat.

Slowly, tentatively, she took a few steps closer. In the dim glow of the streetlamp, she made out the shape of a man curled up by the bushes, completely motionless. He looked severely injured, barely clinging to life.

Hazel's pulse kicked into overdrive. She fumbled for her phone, flicked on the flashlight, and cautiously approached.

The harsh beam illuminated the man's face. He had striking, deep-set features, a strong brow bone, and lips pressed into a tight, agonizing line. Her brow furrowed as a name tumbled from her lips.

"Mr. Thornton?"

The man's eyes fluttered open. They were as cold as glaciers, devoid of any warmth, locking straight onto her.

Hazel was momentarily stunned by the sheer hostility in that gaze before reality snapped back into place.

It wasn't Marcus Thornton. It was Zachary Ward.

How could two people in this world look so remarkably similar? She marveled inwardly as she crouched down beside him.

"Zachary? What are you doing out here?"

Zachary didn't answer. He just stared at her with icy detachment. His face was terrifyingly pale, his lips completely drained of color, and a sheen of cold sweat coated his forehead.

Hazel wrinkled her nose as the unmistakable, metallic scent of blood hit her. "You're hurt?"

Zachary still didn't say a word.

Her eyes swept over him, finally noticing a massive, dark stain soaking the left side of his dress shirt. Her stomach dropped.

"Can you stand? Do you want me to call an ambulance?"

Zachary finally parted his lips, his voice laced with pure frost. "No."

He braced himself against the ground, trying to push himself up, but the moment he put weight on his arm, it buckled. He crashed heavily back into the dirt.

"Zachary," Hazel sighed, her voice tinged with helplessness. "Even though you helped restore my painting, we don't know each other well enough for this."

Zachary remained completely silent, his gaze turning even colder.

They stared each other down. Under the flickering streetlight, his eyes looked like twin pools of dead water, pushing her a million miles away.

But as she held his gaze, Hazel somehow caught a flicker of something dangerously close to pleading buried deep within the ice.

She let out a heavy sigh, defeated. "Fine. Let's go."

Considering he had flawlessly restored Professor Finch's artwork without asking for a dime, she caved. She figured Queenie wouldn't have the heart to turn him away either.

She draped his heavy arm over her shoulder and agonizingly helped him step by step into the building. Zachary followed her lead in silence, his ragged, heavy breathing puffing against her ear, laced with a grueling tolerance for pain.

When they finally reached the door, Hazel freed one hand to knock. Queenie yanked the door open, but the moment she saw the bloody mess in the hallway, the color vanished from her face.