Page 95 of Stay Scared

His eyes shut for a second.

“I heard you. I fucking heard you, and I still held on.”

“Yes, you did.”

“So I know the apology doesn’t fix much.”

“Then don’t ask me to make you feel better about it.”

“I’m not asking.”

I keep pressure against the wound until the bleeding slows. The mechanical timer continues counting behind me. For once, neither of us has anywhere else to go.

Cade watches my face.

“Why are you staring at me?”

“Waiting for you to shove your thumb into the cut.”

“That would make Mark’s rescue inconvenient.”

His mouth twitches.

I clean the skin around the wound. Antiseptic reaches the cut, and Cade jerks hard enough that one knee knocks against my hip.

“I warned you.”

“You said hurt. You didn’t say you were pouring hell into my ribs.”

A laugh breaks out of me before I can stop it.

Cade hears it, and that shuts him up better than the antiseptic.

I press the fresh dressing down and begin wrapping gauze around his ribs. The angle forces me between his knees, and Cade spreads them enough for me to step closer. His thighs bracket my hips without closing around me.

Heat comes off his skin beneath the torn shirt. Blood streaks the side of his abdomen, and every time I reach behind him for another pass of gauze, my body fits into the space he has left open. His hands stay planted on the table, fingers hooked beneath the metal edge hard enough to whiten his knuckles.

“Lift your arm a little.”

He raises it too far.

“Not that much.”

“You said lift.”

“I assumed you had some instinct for self-preservation.”

“Bad night for assumptions.”

I reach behind him again. Cade’s breath changes when my chest brushes his. One hand leaves the table and gets halfway to my waist before his fingers curl in empty air. Then he grips the table again.

I see the whole thing.

“So this is difficult for you.”

His eyes lift to mine. “You standing between my legs while touching me?”

“Keeping your hands to yourself.”