Abigail
Finnegan strode into the living room, his broad shoulders filling the doorway, his face etched with exhaustion.
His emerald eyes swept the room, landing on me first. For a split second, relief flickered across his features. Then his gaze sharpened, taking in the bruises blooming across my cheek, the cut on my lip.
I had forgotten all about them while obsessively trying to treat Annette. Annette was in her room now with Angel, tending to her while River sat next to me.
She had been asking what happened over the past hour, but I couldn't bring myself to say a word. Finnegan crossed the room in three long strides, hands reaching for me.
"Abigail," he breathed, voice rough with worry.
His fingers gently cupped my face, tilting it toward the light. "What the hell happened to you? Your face… your lip is split. And these bruises… who the fuck did this to you?"
