Not like me.
And then I see it.
At first, it’s just a dark patch.
A shadow across his abdomen.
But then it spreads.
Red.
My brain catches up all at once.
Blood.
“Oh my God.”
I’m moving before I even think about it.
The sheet falls away, and I don’t care. I don’t care about anything except the fact that he’s standing there bleeding like it’s nothing.
“What happened?” I demand, already halfway across the room.
He glances down like he forgot it was even there.
“It’s nothing,” he says, dismissive. “Just an angry bull. Got too close.”
“Too close?” I echo, my voice climbing. “Benji, you’re bleeding.”
“I’ve had worse?—”
“Sit down.”
The words come out sharp. Commanding.
Even I’m surprised by the tone.
He blinks at me.
Then—God help me—he listens.
He turns and moves into the bathroom, dropping onto the closed toilet seat like it’s no big deal.
Like he didn’t just walk into the room looking like a damn war zone.
I rush past him, dropping to my knees in front of the cabinet under the sink, yanking it open and digging through it.
“Where is it—come on—” I mutter, pushing aside towels and random supplies until I find what I’m looking for.
First aid kit.
Thank you very much.
I grab it and turn back to him.
And then, he pulls his shirt all the way off.
My breath leaves me in a rush.
