I should not be trusted with medical supplies. That becomes very clear about thirty seconds in.
“Hold still,” I mutter, standing across from Sutton at thekitchen island, a roll of gauze in one hand and what I’m pretty sure is the wrong tape in the other.
“Iamholding still,” she says, her hip braced against the counter. “You’re the one making it worse.”
“I’m not making it worse.”
“Um, you wrapped my finger to my palm.”
“That was strategic.”
“That was unnecessary.”
Behind me, Killian barks out a laugh from where he’s leaning against the fridge.
“Fuck you, I’m not a doctor,” I shoot over my shoulder.
“No shit,” Bishop says from his stool at the island watching the chaos with amusement.
Sebastian, who’s been watching me work like he’s witnessing a slow-motion train wreck, just crosses his arms.
“Shep.”
“I’ve got it.”
“You don’t.”
“I do.”
“You don’t,” he repeats, completely calm.
I glance down at Sutton’s hand.
Yeah. Okay. Maybe I don’t. Her bandage is definitely not how it started and I’m pretty sure I just made it tighter than it needs to be.
“Does that hurt?” I ask, my voice dropping as I look up at her.
She studies me for a second and instead of calling me out, whispers, “It’s fine,” which tells me it’s absolutely not fine.
I exhale slowly. “Seb.”
“Thank God,” Killian mutters.
Sebastian pushes off the counter and steps in, sliding into the space beside me like this was inevitable. “Alright,” he says, gentle but efficient as he reaches for her hand. “Let’s fix it.”
I don’t move right away because, well, I don’t want to. I don’t want anyone else touching Sutton so I don’t want to hand this over.
And yeah, I know that’s an irrational way of thinking, but still.
Sutton notices because of course she does, and her eyes flick to mine, soft and steady. “It’s okay,” she says quietly.
I hold her gaze for a beat and then nod once. “Careful,” I tell Sebastian, my voice low.
He deadpans, “I’m literally trained for this.”
“Still.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “Relax, Shep. I’ve got her.”
