I avert my eyes from her black lace thong and try to think of anything but the fact that I’m on my knees in front of her beautiful body, stripping off her clothes.
I return to standing and suck in a deep breath. “This next part is going to hurt. I’m gonna need you to lift your arms so I can get you out of this shirt.”
She picks up her arms, and her whimpers of pain are like knife pricks to my heart. I pull off the shirt and tank top underneath in one swift movement so I don’t have to do it twice, leaving her in a black sports bra.
I suppress a frustrated growl when I spot the reddish-purple splotch along her ribs. “I’m going to yell at you properly when you’re feeling better.”
A smirk twists her lips. “Too bad you don’t scare me.”
“Apparently nothing scares you, because you got the shit kicked out of you and you’re over here cracking jokes.”
I wrap my arm around her waist and guide her over to the tub. She holds on to me while she lifts each leg and steps into the water, and I take all her weight as she lowers herself down.
“Ow, fuck. I don’t think I can lean back.” A tear escapes and rolls down her cheek, and she covers her face with her hands. “I’m so stupid. Why did I get myself into this mess?”
Fuck no.I tear off my sweatpants, toss them to the floor, and step into the tub. I lower myself behind Phoenix, my legs on either side of her, and settle her back against my chest as I wrap her in my arms.
“You’re not stupid.”
She sniffles. “I haven’t looked in the mirror. Is it bad?”
“I’ve seen worse. Did you at least get any hits in?”
“A few.”
“Good.” I reach for the washcloth and lather it with the soap that’s sitting on the ledge against the wall. Then I tip her head back, resting it on my shoulder, and begin washing the blood off her face. I drag it over her cheek, pressing as light as I can.
She’s quiet as I continue to scrub her skin clean. “Stay awake, Phoenix. You can’t go to sleep yet.”
She stifles a yawn. “I’m just so sleepy.”
“Yeah, that’s part of a concussion. Which is why I wanted to take you to the hospital.”
“I don’t like hospitals.”
“No one does.”
“This is different.”
I dip the washcloth under the water and wring it out before smoothing it over her other cheek. “Bad memories?”
She nods.
“Will you tell me about it?”
“Maybe one day.”
It’s better than a no, so I take it. She doesn’t owe me anything.
We all have secrets.
“Lucky for you, the cut over your eyebrow doesn’t look like it needs stitches. But you’ll have a decent scar there for sure.”
“Add it to the collection,” she murmurs.
My eyes flick to the thin line of raised skin along the inside of her forearm. It boils my blood to think about someone hurting her.
Her eyes droop closed again, so I think of something to keep her awake. “How’s the adoption event coming along?”