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“Hospital still out?” He took the glass out of her hand and set it down. The clink of the glass on the table made her jerk.

His expression was flat and black, like she’d imagined all the warmth and kindness she’d ever seen. The silence was worse than yelling and stomping around.

She pulled her hair forward, her hair-tie lost. “I don’t need a hospital. They have actual emergencies to deal with.”

“This feels like one of those.”

She closed her eyes. Andrew knew most of the nurses, and if he found out, then everyone would know she’d been to a hospital.

And then she’d have to explain to her dad how she’d gotten there.

And they’d fly up here. And find out… that everything was not totally fine.

“I’m sorry for all this, I just—didn’t know who else to call.”

The silence lurched, and she had to look at him.

“Ri—always call. I’ll be there—” His voice was gravel. She loved that he called her that. Even if he was upset. He reached out and touched her cheek. “Always call. Okay?”

She dropped her gaze into her lap. His fingers were gentle and warm as he tipped her chin up, gaze boring into hers. “I mean it.”

“Okay.”

“I’m going to check you out, okay? Did you hit your head? Any dizziness or nausea?”

“No.”

He carefully smoothed his thumbs over her eyebrows, cheekbones, and then moved around to the back of her skull. She breathed in and out through her nose as he felt around down her neck. “Does that hurt?”

“No.”

His brow furrowed as he shifted the cardigan off her shoulders. “Can I?” His fingers rested on the buttons of her blouse.

She nodded. He deftly undid it and slid it back over her shoulders. Her head was too heavy to turn and look.

The shirt slipped down her arm, and Saint went utterly still.

“Is this from your boss?” he asked casually, and if she hadn’t been watching him, she wouldn’t have worried about what he was going to do next.

The fear she tried to summon was used up and gone.

His fingers traced around an ugly red handprint around her upper arm, purple around the fingertips. It looked bad.

Motherfucker. It ached and was hot.

“No.”

The anger flickered and faded away, and she looked into his blank face. There was no way he was going to let this one go.

“I’ve had—some trouble—at work,” she said. Cookie pressed into her leg, looking up at her, and she stroked his nose.

“Who.” Saint’s voice was the darkest she’d ever heard it, and for a moment she caught a glimpse of who he might have been before.

Unlike Andrew, he might actually do something about it.

She needed help. That was as clear as the bruising on her arm.

“Gio. My boss’s brother.”