Page 88 of Almost Rotten

The kindness radiating off him is far more generous than I deserve.

A choked sob catches in my throat, my emotions rushing to the surface, trying to tear free. I bury my face in his shirt, hiding my visceral reaction.

“She’s trembling.”

Mercer.

I keep my face buried. I can’t look at him. The shame weighing me down is far too heavy.

“Why is she trembling? Why is she bleeding?” His voice is closer now.

A warm hand encircles my arm. Lifts it. The touch is soft and caring. The gentleness only makes me feel even shittier about this entire ordeal.

“It’s self-inflicted.”

Mercer sucks in a harsh breath.

“No. Shit. Not like that,” Noah soothes. “I meant no one hurt her. She got caught in the pricker patch. They’re mostly surface wounds. I need to inspect one closer, but I’ll get her cleaned up.”

The entryway is silent. Tense. The men looming above me are undoubtedly having a wordless argument. Noah’s grip tightenson me and the energy shifts, making it harder to breathe. My curiosity is piqued, though not enough to tempt me to open my eyes and get a read on them.

“Take her upstairs to the main bathroom,” Mercer instructs. “I have three more reports to finish, then I’ll be up. I’ll let Shiloh out once more, lock the house, and set the alarms.”

Noah adjusts, securing his hold. “Hang on, honey.”

I do as I’m told, wrapping my arms around him a little tighter.

As we hit the top landing, I finally sneak another glance at Noah.

He pauses, his eyes flitting to mine, that crease between his eyebrows deeper than I’ve ever seen it.

“He’s so mad,” I hedge, my voice reedy and pathetically weak.

Noah grimaces. “He is.”

I sniffle back my embarrassment and self-pity. I try to, at least. I did this. All this pain is my fault. I don’t deserve comfort or softness or care.

“I’ve made such a mess.”

“It’s a mess,” he admits, offering me a soft smile. “But it’s nothing that can’t be cleaned up.”

The kindness in his gaze makes my chest pang. It’s too much.

“Will you be okay if I set you down?”

Oh god. In the depth of my pity party for one, I’ve forgotten that he’s still holding all my weight.

Effortlessly.

Despite how little I deserve to be held.

“Yes, sorry.” I shimmy, working to free myself.

He only holds me tighter. Closer. Then he gently walks over to the tub and sets me on the edge.

Kneeling, he homes in on me, every line on his face etched in concern. He shifts, his joints popping, and lets out a groan.

I can’t help but smirk. Tucking wet strands of hair behind my ears, I peek up, finding his soulful gray-blue eyes.