“What’s going on?” My voice sounds thin in the oppressive heat.
“He’s gonna pop your shoulder back in, remember?” Gage’s fingertips trace a path from my wrist to my elbow, leaving goosebumps despite the sweat beading on my skin.
“Right.” I run my tongue over cracked lips, tasting salt and dried blood. My heartbeat doubles.
The passenger door groans open. Rafe’s silhouette blocks the harsh sunlight. Gage pivots, taking me with him. His boots plant on gravel while I remain cradled against his chest. Rafe crouches, eye-level now. His gaze tracks my shoulder—the unnatural angle, the way my body curves protectively around it.
“Ready?” Rafe squats down in front of me, his eyes tracing the line of it first—the way it sits slightly off, the way I’m holding myself around it without meaning to.
“Sure.”
“Trust me,” he says, voice dropping an octave.
The world narrows to just his face—those eyes that feel like I’m staring into the deepest parts of the ocean. Something electric passes between us, something that makes my breath catch for reasons entirely separate from the pain.
“Okay.” The word escapes before I can reconsider.
Gage’s arm forms a steel band around my waist. His breath warms the nape of my neck.
Rafe’s fingers ghost over my shoulder, barely touching at first, then pressing with practiced precision. His touch maps the damage beneath my skin, reading it like braille. When he finds the spot where bone meets socket—or should—I inhale sharply through clenched teeth.
His gaze flicks to mine. “Okay,” he says quietly. “That’s good.”
“Partial?” Gage’s breath warms my ear.
Rafe’s thumb shifts against my skin. I feel the slight calluses catch as he tests the joint with a pressure that makes my vision blur at the edges. “Yeah, it slipped out. Which means…” Hishand slides down to my elbow, fingers wrapping fully around it while his other palm cups my shoulder, warm and steady. “Eyes on me, baby.”
I’m already watching the flecks of darker blue in his irises, the slight crease between his brows. My chin dips. My throat clicks when I swallow.
“Deep breath,” Gage coaxes.
My chest expands against his arm. The inhale stutters halfway through.
“That’s it.” Rafe’s voice drops to a rumble that seems to vibrate in the small space between us. He moves my arm outward—just a whisper of movement—then holds. Waits. The tendons in his forearm stand out as he maintains that perfect tension.
Something shifts deep in the socket. Not pain—something stranger. Like tectonic plates sliding beneath the surface. My stomach pitches, sweat beading at my hairline.
Rafe’s eyes never leave mine. “I know,” he murmurs, barely audible over the blood rushing in my ears. “Just stay with me.” His thumb brushes once across the inside of my elbow, a touch so light it shouldn’t register through everything else.
But fuck, it does.
He adjusts my arm, his fingers pressing into the hollow beneath my bicep. He rotates my elbow outward, then guides it back in a slow arc. His palm at my shoulder radiates heat through my shirt.
My breath catches. The joint slides—a subtle internal movement like a key finding its lock.
My vision blurs at the edges. Sweat drips down my neck as the pressure releases with a dull click I feel in my teeth. The wrongness vanishes. My eyes flutter closed. My exhale comes out ragged, almost a moan.
When I open my eyes, Rafe’s face is inches from mine, pupils blown wide. His thumb traces a small circle against my skin.
“There it is,” he says, voice rough.
Behind me, Gage’s fingers dig once into the soft flesh at my waist.
Rafe shifts my arm a fraction of an inch. “Better?”
I manage a nod, mouth dry.
“Good.” His calloused fingertips linger at the crook of my elbow as he guides my arm down. The muscles in his jaw work as he watches the joint move beneath my skin.
