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We arrived at a single story home in a middle-class residential neighborhood. He parked in the driveway and stepped out of the Jeep to enter a code that opened the garage door. We pulled in, and the door closed behind us. A small light from the opener stayed on, but it was very darkand quiet. The only sound was the ringing in my head from the explosion and the pinging of the Jeep's engine as it cooled down.
He helped me inside and turned on the lights as he walked us to the bathroom. "I'll be right back." He looked me over one more time then walked away.
I heard the interior garage door opening and closing, and a few moments later, he returned with several large bags that he threw on the couch. He brought a small rectangular one with him into the bathroom. "Where does it hurt?" From the bag in his hands, he withdrew a white cloth and a thick brown bottle that looked like hydrogen peroxide.
I stared at my stunned face in the mirror. Blood spatters stained my sleep shirt. My hair had blood in it like I'd survived the zombie apocalypse. It all felt very surreal. I wasn't sure how to answer his questions. Was this really happening? "I feel numb."
"You're in shock."
The bakery was my happy place, and now it was destroyed. My grandfather was gone, and if the shop was too, I had nothing left of him. My parents were dead. I was truly alone. "Your system," I mumbled.
"What?"
"Talon did all that work on the security, and now it's ruined."
"We'll fix it."
"How? Isn't it gone?"
"The shop is still there. It was a small explosive device. The glass cases shattered, but the walls of the building didn't. It's still there."
Oh, I'd thought it was much more serious. It felt like a huge bomb had exploded. "You didn't hear the gunshots? It was like a popping sound."
He quickly wiped his face with a cloth. "No shots fired. You're gonna have to take your clothes off so I can see the injuries."
I shook my head. I didn't feel comfortable taking my clothes off in front of him. "I'm okay."
"I tackled you pretty hard."
"Yeah." The memory of his massive body slamming me to the ground came back to me. Was that what football players felt every time they took a hit? I hadn't noticed before but my knee was throbbing.
"I'm gonna check your head first." He seemed quite calm and professional considering we'd just been through a violent attack.
"Okay."
He worked through my hair, gently picking out bits of glass with tweezers and then wiping it with the cloth. It hurt a little but not badly. With a separate cloth, he wiped my face and my neck. He was methodical and focused while I was still a disjointed mess.
"My knee." I lifted my pant leg over my knee and discovered the skin was scraped raw, and the beginning of a purple bruise was forming. He cleaned it and wrapped it in a stretchy bandage. His touch was easy and comfortable. It was weird being this close to him. I knew he was tending to my wounds, but an intoxicating heat exuded from him. It was like he came to life with the rush of danger and his warrior mode had been activated.
His attention was extremely different from anything I'd ever experienced. The opposite of Gavin, who had never shown any interest in protecting me or caring for me physically. I found it appealing in a unique visceral way.
"You're good at this," I said as a way to summarize all that I was feeling.
"Been in a few scraps in my life. Why don't you lie down in the bed, and I'll work on your back?"
"I don't know."
He handed me a large white bath towel. "Change into this. We have to get the glass out so you can heal. I won't peek at anything." His eyes flared. He was still excited from the explosion, and he seemed very intent on finishing the first-aid job that he'd started. Maybe he felt guilty for not being there sooner or for smashing my knee to the ground so hard.
"It's not your fault," I said.
He looked down. "It is."
"Why do you think that?"
"Put on the towel and lie in the bed."
"If I put on the towel, will you tell me why you think it's your fault?"
