The second we're inside, I point him toward the bathroom.
"Sit," I order.
"I'm fine."
"Sit down, West, or I swear I'll elbow you again."
He sits.
I grab a clean towel and run it under cold water, then kneel in front of him.
Up close, the damage is worse. His nose is already swelling, a dark bruise blooming across the bridge. Blood smeared across his jaw and neck.
"Tilt your head forward," I instruct, pressing the towel to his nose. "Not back. That's a myth."
"I know."
"Then why—"
"I've had my nose broken six times, Jane. I know how it works."
I blink. "Six?"
"Hockey."
I press the towel gently to his nose, and he winces.
"Sorry."
"It's fine."
"It's not fine. I assaulted you."
"You protected me. Badly. But the intent was there."
I glare at him. "This isn't funny."
"It's a little funny."
"You're bleeding because I panicked."
"I'm bleeding because Blake is an entitled ass who can't handle being told no." West's hand comes up to cover mine, holding the towel in place. "This isn't your fault."
He catches my wrist—the one Blake grabbed—and his expression goes hard again.
"Jane—"
"I'm fine,"I say quickly. "It's just some redness. It'll fade."
He doesn't look convinced.
Carefully, like I'm something fragile, he lifts my wrist to his mouth and presses a kiss to the red marks.
My breath stutters.
"West—"
"I wanted to hit him harder," he says quietly, his lips still against my skin. "Wanted to break his jaw. His ribs. Wanted to make him bleed the way he tried to make you feel small."
