“That was not appropriate to say,” Sean sighed and dragged a hand down his face. “But you’re a lawyer. You know better than to hit someone, regardless of how much they deserve it. Is there something I should know about? About you two?”
I opened my mouth, but Derek spoke first.
“We’re engaged. Fake engaged. Well, about to. It’s complicated.”
“Fake engaged,” Sean repeated the words like Derek was speaking alien. He stared at him for a long moment, then shook his head. “You know what? I don’t want to know. Just... try not to actually murder anyone, okay? I don’t want to defend you for manslaughter.”
He left, and the silence that followed felt deafening.
I stood there staring at Derek across the chaos of his desk. There were papers everywhere, his pants stained with coffee, and his hair a mess from the fight. But his knuckles were bleeding.
“Derek. Sit.”
“I’m fine?—”
“Sit your ass down,” I said, and he followed, mumbling, ‘yes, ma’am.’
I gently took his injured hand. The skin was torn across two knuckles, blood welling up in the cuts, and my chest twisted at the sight.
He had done it for me.
“See? It’s fine,” he said, but I could see the way he flexed his fingers, testing his injury.
“Shut up,” I said, and he thankfully did.
I hurried to the small bathroom attached to Derek’s office, finding the first aid kit under the sink. When I returned, he was still sitting there, his injured hand resting on his thigh, looking at me with an expression I couldn’t quite read.
I sat beside him and started cleaning the blood away with antiseptic. He hissed slightly when the cotton ball touched the open wounds, but didn’t pull away.
“He could really sue you,” I said quietly, focusing on his knuckles instead of his face. If I looked at his face, I didn’t know if I would slap him. “For assault. You could lose your license, Derek. Your career. All because of something stupid.”
“It wasn’t stupid,” he said, his words firm. “And it’d be worth it.”
My hands stilled. I looked up at him, and the intensity in his eyes made my breath catch. “Don’t say that. Don’t act like throwing away everything you’ve worked for is worth?—”
“It’s. Fine,” he said simply. “It’ll be fine.”
“Derek…” I whispered, but I didn’t know what I wanted to say.
“Do you know what’s funny?” He said after a while, watching my face as if he were trying to memorize it. “When we were kids, you punched Tommy for making fun of my stutter. Gave him a bloody nose.”
“I remember,” I said, a smile tugging at my lips. “You gave me a Spider-Man Band-Aid.”
“I did.”
His uninjured hand came up, and I felt his fingers brush my hair back, tucking a strand behind my ear. The gesture was so gentle, so intimate, that my throat went tight. “Guess I finally returned the favor. It only took me a couple of decades.”
“You’re ridiculous,” I laughed softly. “Punching someone on my behalf doesn’t make us even. Now you’re the one who might get in trouble.”
“Still worth it.”
I shook my head, but I couldn’t stop smiling as I returned to tending his knuckles. The ointment was cool under my fingers as I spread it carefully across the broken skin, trying to be gentle even though my hands were shaking.
When I wrapped his hand in gauze, I took my time, making sure every layer was secure and it would heal properly. And when I finished, I found myself still holding his bandaged hand in both of mine, my thumbs tracing the edges of the gauze.
“Thank you,” I whispered, finally meeting his eyes. “For defending me. For... everything.”
“Always,” he said, and the word felt like a promise.
