Agreement.
Chapter 7
Clare
“Before we risk your stubborn ass on the streets, you need a bath.”
Xavier’s expression went flat. Suspicious.
“I’m serious. You smell like the bottom of a river had a fight with a dumpster fire. And lost.” I grabbed the basin from under the sink, ran hot water until steam rose. “Police are looking for someone matching your general description. But they’re not looking for someone clean. We change what we can change.”
“You need cleaning.” Set the basin on the floor, twisted the rag until water stopped dripping. “Actual cleaning, not spot treatment. Infection doesn’t care how awkward this is.”
He glanced at the basin. Then at my face. Wary but not refusing.
Progress. Sort of.
Also gave me something to do besides think about walking him into the clinic. About X-rays that might show skull fractures. About what happened if they did. Or if they didn’t.
“This stays professional. You’re a patient. I’m a nurse. I’ve seen everything. This means nothing. I’m going to start with your upper body. Shoulder, chest, arms. Then we’ll work down.” Kept my tone matter-of-fact. Clinical. “If anything hurts, let me know. Got it?”
Slight nod.
Gathered supplies: soft rag, soap that didn’t smell like antiseptic, clean towels. Had already cranked up the heater. My fingers trembled slightly. Exhaustion. Not nerves about touching him more than medically necessary.
Not awareness that this was going to be intimate in ways checking injuries wasn’t.
“Lie down.”
He didn’t move. Studied me with that unnerving focus.
“I can’t clean you if you’re sitting up. The physics don’t work. Lie. Down.”
Finally shifted. Slow. Careful. Like he expected a trap.
Once flat, he tracked my every movement. Predator awareness that prickled along my spine. Made me hyperaware of how close I was standing, how vulnerable he was in this position, how easily things could go wrong.
How easily I could cross lines I shouldn’t.
Dipped the rag in hot water. Squeezed it out. The warmth felt good on my cramped knuckles.
“Starting with your shoulder. Don’t tense up.”
First contact: warm cotton to bare skin, heat spreading under my palm. Solid muscle shifting beneath the fabric. His fever radiating through the layers.
My movements slowed. For a second. Long enough to notice.
Warmth crept up my neck.
Forced myself forward, dragging the dampened cotton across his collarbone, down the curve of his shoulder. Careful around the binding. Careful around everything.
Started talking to cover the awareness. Filled the silence before it could settle into something dangerous.
“So.” Slid the rag to his collarbone, working carefully around the IV line. “You strike me as the strong, silent type. Which works out great since you literally can’t talk. Lucky for you, I talk enough for both of us.”
His mouth almost curved. Almost.
“Fun fact. In the ER, we had a guy come in with a fishing lure embedded in his scalp.”
