My gaze shot to his. I’d totally forgotten about my cut. “Your tattoos,” I blurted, not knowing what else to say. They had totally thrown me off.
Fox tensed, and I recognized a flicker of uncertainty in his expression.
“Come on.” He gently lifted my hand so it was above my chest. “I saw a first-aid kit in the bathroom. We should bandage you up before you bleed everywhere.”
I staggered after him as he led me out of the room. I couldn’t keep myself from looking at all that dark ink across his skin. It was stunning.
“Sit,” Fox commanded, pointing to the couch. “Keep your hand above your heart. I’ll be right back.”
I did as I was told, sinking down onto the cushions. The blanket I’d left for Fox was on the floor, like he’d kicked it off in a hurry.
He gave me another unsure glance as he picked something else off the floor. His shirt. He had it on within the next breath, and he headed to the bathroom.
Disappointment hit me, though I wasn’t sure why. Fox didn’t owe me anything. He obviously hadn’t meant to show me his tattoos. I fixed my gaze on my feet until he returned.
He knelt before me, taking my bleeding hand that was stuck up in the air awkwardly. “I’m going to clean it out and then make sure there isn’t any glass in it,” he said flatly.
I nodded.
We were quiet as he carefully cleaned off the blood with a cloth soaked in soap and warm water. It stung, but I didn’t flinch. I focused on his hands as he worked, on his long fingers that were somehow both strong and delicate at the same time.
When we were teenagers, Fox sometimes disassembled different kinds of electronics just to reassembled them. I think he enjoyed the challenge of figuring out how something worked and being able to put it back together. Eventually, he started repairing people’s computers when he got good enough at dissecting problems and fixing them. I used to lay with him on his bedroom floor as he took apart machines with intricate wires and chips, and it was fascinating to watch those fingers work so delicately, but efficiently. It was mesmerizing.
My mouth tightened as I caught a glimpse of his knuckles. Fading bruises spotted his skin, accompanied by peeling scabs.
“What happened to your knuckles?” I asked, unable to stop myself.
He paused. He didn’t meet my eyes, but his fingertip carefully caught my thumb, caressing the raw and picked skin that surrounded the nail. “What happened to you?” he whispered.
My heart stuttered, and I resisted the urge to yank my hand away.
Of course he’d noticed my picking. A wave of shame rolled over me, followed by embarrassment. I didn’t respond, and we both focused back on the currently bleeding wound.
The glass had sliced me from below the pinky finger to the middle of my palm. When most of the blood was cleared, Fox took out his phoneand used the flashlight to inspect the wound. He fixated on it, searching for any fragment of glass left behind.
“No glass,” he said, satisfied as he put away the phone and got out the bandages and antibiotic cream.
“I’m sorry for waking you,” I said, breaking my silence.
He paused briefly before smearing the antibiotic on with a cotton swab. “I thought someone was breaking in. I’m just…glad you’re okay.”
I suppressed a shiver. “You really don’t have to stay here with me, Fox.” He gave me a sharp glare, but I continued before he could argue. “I understand that you have made your decision, but I’m going to feel even more guilty when all this turns out to be nothing.”
“It’s worth my time, regardless.”
Something in my chest ached at those words. I stared at him, unable to chase away the feeling that I was not, in fact, worth his time.
I shifted on the couch as he finished with the bandaging.
“Does it hurt?” A hard line formed between his brows.
It burned and throbbed, but it wasn’t too bad. I shook my head.
He didn’t look convinced. “Want some medicine for the pain?”
He still held my hand. I stared at the way he cupped it in both of his. That guilt festered in my gut.
I shook my head again. I wanted to distract myself, and him. “Your tattoos…they’re beautiful.”
