“How’s your shoulder?”
I blink. “It’s fine. Just a little sore.”
“Show me.”
I lift my arm slowly. The joint holds—but not cleanly. There’s a dull, throbbing ache tucked deep in the socket, something tight and irritated where it slipped earlier. It doesn’t catch, not like before, but it drags unsteady. Like it hasn’t decided if it trusts itself yet.
I stop just short of overhead, the muscle there burning, a faint tremor threading down my arm that I can’t quite hide.
“Again.”
I narrow my eyes at him.
He doesn’t even glance up. His focus pins to the joint itself, tracking every inch of movement—the slight hitch, the guarded way I compensate without thinking. Something clinical settles over his expression, like he’s reading me in layers, mapping what’s working and what isn’t.
I lift it again, slower this time, pushing a fraction higher.
The ache deepens into something heavy. A warning more than anything. My arm trembles at the top. His eyes follow it the entire way.
One sharp nod. “Alright. It didn’t slip out again. That’s good.”
Gage unscrews a small jar, the herbal smell hitting me before he even opens it fully. He dabs yellowish paste across the purple blooming under his eye before he passes it to me. “This is arnica. It helps with bruising.”
I catch his reflection. “That bad, huh?”
A tired smile cuts briefly across his mouth, pulling at the split in his lip. “Nah, you’re still gorgeous, Bell.”
Cruz snorts under his breath while inspecting his cheekbone in the mirror.
My hand flies out, connecting with Cruz’s washcloth before my brain catches up to the movement. It smacks against the mirror with a wet thwack. The three of us freeze—except for Rafe. His fingers never pause their methodical cleaning of the cut along my hairline.
Heat crawls up the back of my neck, prickling beneath my skin. “In my defense, I was aiming for your hand.”
Cruz chuckles as he peels the washcloth from the mirror.
“Are you implying my girl’snotgorgeous?” Gage challenges.
I start to turn, but Rafe’s fingers tighten on my chin, holding me in place. My eyes lock with his. Something flashes there—dark, possessive—gone before I can name it. My tongue darts out, wetting my bottom lip.
Cruz huffs. The faucet squeaks as he turns it on again. “I don’t know how you want me to answer that, man.”
I exhale slowly. “Let’s just leave it. It'’s been a long day, and I’m ready for a shower and some sleep.”
Rafe’s eyes lock onto mine, dark and unblinking. The bathroom seems to shrink around us.
“You take my shower,” Gage says, breaking the silence. “We’ll finish up in the kitchen. I’ll use the one outside.”
Rafe steps back, his fingertips trailing across my knee as he withdraws—so brief I almost think I imagined it.
Cruz leans against the doorframe. “My shower’s free too.”
I look over at him, noting the smirk twisting his mouth and the sparkle in his eyes. I already know the answer to this question, but I ask it anyway. “And where would you shower then?”
His split lip stretches into a full grin. “With you.”
Heat crawls up my neck. I shake my head, but can’t stop the smile that tugs at my mouth.
Gage shoves the first aid kit against Cruz’s chest. “Let’s go, asshole, before I add to your collection of bruises.”
