Page 51 of Hurt

Jamie had been right. Which wasn’t something Elijah got to say very often. But he did overthink things.

This wasn’t one of those things.

Despite the aching in his heart, the longing to have someone by his side, he couldn’t do it. Jamie called him a stupid romantic, and maybe he was.

He forced his mind to be blank the rest of the way to The Sunspot. His wrist was aching. Swollen and hot to the touch, he had wrapped it in a bandage, but the pain was still persistent. He could throw reasonably well with his left hand, so it wasn’t a terrible hindrance. But the pain was aggravating.

When he finally pulled into the bar, Roland glanced up and met his eyes in the rearview mirror.

“Go inside and call Jamie to pick you up.”

Elijah stared back at him. “You cannot go alone, sir.”

Something fierce gleamed in Roland’s eyes. “This is not…professional. I do not require assistance.”

Elijah wanted to argue, but ultimately it was up to Roland.

He stepped out of the car and pulled out his phone, sending a quick text to Jamie. What he was going to do for an hour while his cousin made the drive, he didn’t know.

Letting his eyes adjust to the dimness of the bar, he unwrapped his wrist. The bandage itched like a demon, and he needed to flex his fingers. His skin was mottled deep purple, and it hurt to move his fingers. He wondered if he did, in fact, break it.

Taking a seat, he was preoccupied with his wrist and didn’t look around. Experimenting with rolling the joint, he jumped when a bag of frozen fruit landed on the bar in front of him.

“That looks bad.”

Elijah glanced up, a ‘thank you’ on his lips when the words died in his throat.

Beautiful copper eyes were staring at him from behind brunette fringes. Soft pink lips were twisted in a wry smile.

“Can I see?” He extended a slender hand across the space, and Elijah stared at it dumbly, handing over his wrist without thinking.

His fingers were light as he took the limb. Experimentally pressing. He lifted each of his fingers to gauge the pain reaction. Elijah was transfixed by the fingers touching his skin. Even the light touches sent little sparks of want across his skin. Every nerve in his body was acutely aware of what was happening on his wrist.

“No nerve damage,” he said definitively. “Can you close your fist?”

Elijah did. It felt stiff but not acutely painful.

“I don’t think it’s broken. Ice it. Ten minutes on, twenty minutes off. Then wrap it, so the swelling stays down.”

He laid Elijah’s hand down on the bar and put a rag between the bag of frozen fruit and Elijah’s skin.

“I’m Noah, by the way,” he said as he adjusted the bag. “Figured I should introduce myself since I’ve been groping you.”

Elijah choked when he heard his words and had to force himself to breathe through the cough. “’MmnamesElijah,” he said through the coughs.

“One more time?” Noah asked with raised eyebrows.

Taking a deep breath, Elijah cleared his throat. “I’m Elijah.”

“Right. You were here a couple nights ago.”

Elijah felt himself blushing. He remembered him.

“Yes, I was. I’m sorry about that. I hope you weren’t too frightened.”

Noah stared at him before laughing. “You know how I know your wrist isn’t broken?” He crossed his arms on the bar and leaned on them. “My uncle used to box a lot. He would come home with tons of injuries, and I would always go over him and guess what was wrong. If I got it right, he would buy me name-brand ice cream.”

Elijah couldn’t picture the head of the White Sand Mesas fighting, so it must be Kurt he was referring to. It fit. He had heard some stories about the bartender.