“For fuck’s sake, Arya,” I snap at myself. “Just put me on the floor, Viking, until I can pull myself together.”
“Easy.”
“I’m serious. Sit me on the floor.”
“No.” He lowers the toilet lid and sits me there with his legs against mine. As he pushes my hair back from my eyes, I’m sure he sees the tears that threaten to spill.
I bite down hard on my lip. “I’m okay. “Show me your wound. We can’t afford for both of us to get light-headed.”
His hands leave my body but stay outstretched on either side of me in case I start to go down.
“I’m better.” It might be the truth. More likely, a lie. “Show me.”
He shrugs off his bloody coat and lets it drop in the corner. His sweater and t-shirt come off in one motion. Rising to his feet, he moves so I can examine the shallow one-inch slice.
“It’s ok. The knife didn’t make it all the way through the skin. Turn, so I can look at your older wound from the explosion.”
He turns, widening his stance and resting his hands on his head.
“You popped a couple of stitches, but the wound is still closed. It’s fine.” I exhale, relieved that he’s not badly injured. Looking up at his bloody face, I grimace. “Your hands and face though—just take everything off, Viking, so you can wash all the wounds. Then we’ll put salve and gauze on them.” My voice is stilted. And faint.
Without a word, Erik backs up so he’s got room to strip.
When he’s naked, I stand, holding the edge of the sink for purchase and inspect him from head to toe. His hands and face are the worst.
“Get in,” I say, nodding at the tub. I sit on the commode again. “Soap and rinse everything. Scalp, too. They hit your head.” My voice sounds so weird. Robotic and cool. Barely audible.
He steps into the shower and pulls the curtain so water doesn’t drench the floor. A few minutes later, he’s clean but bleeding lightly from reopened scrapes and cuts.
My head feels clearer and I’m less faint, so I rise and grab the first aid kit. When I work on his hands, I press the bones. “Does anything feel broken?”
“No.”
With a towel low on his hips, Erik sits on the edge of the tub. I apply ointment and gauze until everything is covered except the scrapes on his face. Running my fingers over his scalp, I feel a couple of knots where he was struck in the head.
As I probe for cuts, a small hiss of breath escapes him.
“Sorry. That’s all.” I rub a little antibiotic gel over the scuffs on his face, then step back, clasping my hands in front of me. “Done.”
“Thank you.”
I spot my socks in the trash bin, which has smears of blood along its sides. I blow out a breath and lick my lips. “I need air.” Without another word, I retreat to the hall, leaving him to fend for himself. I’ve done all I can.
35
ARYA
An hour later, I’ve showered and changed into a pair of silk pajamas. In the front room, Tavi is still in her school clothes as she talks on the phone with Jeff Tremblay.
I wander back to the library. Erik and Cami are the only ones there. He’s wearing his jeans with a borrowed black v-neck knit shirt that’s so tight his bulging muscles look like they’ll bust out of it. As my eyes land on his exposed left bicep, my mind jumps back to him fighting and the massive damage he can do with his bare hands.
All those guys pummeled to the ground. Brayden… critically injured or dead.
My teeth grind together as I try to push the thoughts away. It happened. The alternative would’ve been worse. At least for us.
Erik sits in front of a coffee table where cell phones are arranged in a row with wallets sitting above them. At the end of the table is the knife, now in a plastic Ziplock bag with a date and time written in the corner.
Cami sits on the couch next to Erik, and they are both wearing plastic gloves as they go through the contents of the wallets.
