Page 37

He nods, understanding written all over his features. “Can I see it?”
From the looks of the blood on the recliner, I don’t know if it’s just what was on my shirt that seeped through or if I’m bleeding again. I turn so he can get a good view. “Johnny cleaned it up once.”
Brawler pauses as he grips my shirt. After what I said sinks in, he pulls the shirt up, placing it in his other hand to leave his other hand free to inspect.
“What’s it look like?”
“Looks like you got slammed into something.”
“That’s about right,” I say, humor lacing my voice. I don’t know why I think that’s funny. It’s really not. If anyone else had done that to me in a fight, I would’ve given it back to them worse. I can’t do that where Johnny is concerned though.
He lets the shirt back down. “It’s still seeping a little. After you take a shower, I’ll put some bandages on it.”
“So,youcan touch me? Magnum seemed to think he’d end up in a ditch somewhere if he tried to help.”
“Don’t trust anyone that fucking close to them,” Brawler grinds out.
I turn, letting my shirt fall naturally. “But I can trust you?”
“Yes,” he says, voice firm, like he’s never been more sure of something his whole life.
I press my lips together, still not willing to believe it. Turning, I leave Brawler behind me as I make my way into the bathroom to take a shower. The shower stings at first, as does the soap running into the cut, but I let it happen, wanting it to be as clean as it can be before Brawler puts a bandage on it. When I get out, I wrap up in a towel, leaving my upper back bare while covering everything else up. My hair’s damp from the shower, clinging to my neck, so I move it over my other shoulder and walk back out into the living room.
An array of first aid materials sits on the counter. Brawler must’ve run to his own apartment because I don’t have much here. I have a tiny First-Aid kit under the bathroom sink but that’s it.
“Have a seat,” he says, pulling out the stool that sits next to my kitchen bar. The Formica is chipped in some places, but it doesn’t look half bad. It’s like everything else in this apartment. It’s not terrible.
I place my foot on the rung and heave myself up there, making sure to keep my towel closed as I give Brawler my back.
“Take that pill there,” he says, motioning toward the glass of water and small white pill next to me on the bar. “Then place that ice pack on your forehead.”
Oh look, an actual ice pack. I do as he says and lean over, resting my elbow on the bar while holding the ice pack to my forehead.
“This looks a lot better,” he says, voice lowering. “Is it okay if I put some ointment on it?”
“Please,” I tell him, my throat suddenly very dry. After what happened this morning, I’ve realized I’m sitting here in a towel and Brawler’s about to touch me again. “Can I reach it myself?” I ask, pulling away.
“Just let me do it,” he says.
I try to relax, turn back around, and steel myself for Brawler’s hands. When they finally touch me, it’s just a grazing like he doesn’t want to hurt me. He runs his fingertips over the wound, and I suck in a sharp breath.
He yanks his hands away. “Sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry,” I say. It had less to do with the fact that he hurt me and more to do with the fact that I liked it. “It’s okay.”
He places his fingers back on my skin, quickly rubbing the ointment in this time before walking over to wash his hands in the kitchen sink. When he moves back over, he places a pad over my throbbing skin and then uses Band-Aids to make it stick.
When he finishes, his fingers trail down my back for a moment before he pulls away and takes a step back. “Done,” he says. “You’ll be fine, it’s just a few cuts that bled.”
I turn to look at the armchair, remembering I have to clean the blood up, but it’s already gone. Stepping off the stool, I face Brawler who’s packing everything back up. “You cleaned the chair?”
He shrugs.
“Thanks,” I mutter. The tension in the room thick like hovering storm clouds. Everything in me is telling me I can trust Brawler, but if I can and I take him up on it, I’ll just be sucking him into my story and that’s not good either. He doesn’t need to go down with me if this all turns south. “I’m taking a nap,” I tell him. “If Johnny told you you had to stay with me, you don’t. I’ll be fine.”
“I actually have to go do something,” Brawler says. He places the last gauze pad back in the box and stands. “I’ll tell whoever comes to stand outside. Okay?”
“Outside outside, right? Meaning outside the apartment?”