“Fuck,” I hear him whisper just before he lifts me in his arms and turns his body left and then right as if deciding his next move.
“Shepherd…” I can’t control my tears as they flow down my face, whatever makeup I had left now streaking down my cheeks.
He lowers his lips to my forehead, kissing me tenderly and then murmuring in my ear, “Can I get you out of here?”
“Please,” I whisper, my voice trembling.
“You’re okay,” he assures me. “I’ve got you.”
I lean my head on his chest and vaguely listen as he tells his brothers thanks but no thanks. I hear one of them tell him he’ll catch a ride with Hop and then without another word he’s carrying me out the door and straight into his car.
Shepherd sets me gently inside his SUV and buckles me into the passenger seat, his movements gentle but urgent. The world around me has gone hazy at the edges, like I’m viewing everything through frosted glass. My hand throbs with each heartbeat, the bar towel now thoroughly soaked with my blood. Shepherd takes my injured hand in his, and I wince when he unwraps the towel, exposing the deep gash across my palm. The sight of it makes my stomach lurch.
“That’s pretty deep.” He doesn’t flinch or make a face. He simply inspects my hand, tilting it toward the light, his thumb somehow both firm and impossibly gentle as he wipes away the bead of blood that wells up. My fingers tremble uncontrollably, and Shepherd sets down the towel and takes my wrist in his other hand, grounding me. His hands completely envelop mine, dwarfing them, as if he could physically hold me together with his grip alone.
“Fuck, Sutton,” he murmurs, and the words are less a curse and more a prayer of concern. “You still with me? Hey, look at me.”
I lift my gaze and nod but no words come out. He grabs some clean gauze from a first-aid kit in his glove compartment and presses it firmly against my palm, his movements calm and composed. “This is going to need stitches. We should go to the hospital.”
I shake my head violently. “No hospital.” The words come out choked. “I can’t afford it.”
“You won’t have to,” he responds gently. “Your insurance?—”
“I don’t have insurance, Shepherd,” I say, closing my eyes briefly and swallowing all of my pride. “The bar doesn’t offer any and I couldn’t afford it even if they did.” My voice trembles as I try to rein myself in but it’s getting harder by the minute.
“It’s okay,” he says, but I shake my head adamantly as an onslaught of tears spring from my eyes.
“It’s not okay,” I cry. “I work my ass off but it’s never enough and now I can’t even afford to take care of myself and I’m sorry you seem to have picked a real winner but I can’t afford insurance and I won’t even have a fucking home in three weeks so please, just…I don’t know. A band-aid maybe? It’ll stop bleeding eventually and then I’ll be fine. I’m sorry I got caught up in my emotions. I don’t want to take up any more of your time. You deserve to spend time with your broth?—”
His mouth covers mine, silencing my words mid-sentence. I freeze in shock as his hands gently cup my face, his thumbs brushing away my tears. The kiss isn’t demanding or passionate, it’s tender, almost reverent, like he’s trying to absorb some of my pain. When he pulls back, his eyes are intense, focused entirely on me.
“Stop,” he whispers. “Just stop for a second.”
My lungs stutter as I try to catch my breath, words dying in my throat.
“I don’t want to spend time with my brothers right now,” he continues, his thumbs gently wiping tears from my cheeks. “I want to be with you. That’s why I came to the bar tonight. For you, Sutton. Not for anyone else.”
I blink, more tears spilling over. “But?—”
“No buts,” he interrupts, his gaze never wavering. “I’ve been where you are.” He shakes his head. “Okay maybe not mepersonally, but my parents. There’s no judgement here, okay? Never. I’m going to take care of your hand, and we’re going to figure out everything else. Together. But right now, I need you to breathe. Can you do that for me?”
I nod, my breath coming in shuddering gasps as I try to follow his instruction. His hands are warm against my face, anchoring me when everything else feels like it’s spinning out of control.
“In through your nose,” he coaches gently. “Out through your mouth.”
I try to match my breathing to his, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. The pain in my hand throbs with each heartbeat, but it feels distant now, secondary to the weight crushing my ribs.
“My apartment building got sold,” I whisper, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. “Everyone has to be out by the end of the month. And Frank died alone in his apartment, and nobody found him for two days, and the food pantry was empty, and I had to turn people away, and?—”
“Shhh,” Shepherd soothes, his thumb brushing across my cheekbone. “One thing at a time, okay? I promise you’re going to be okay. I won’t let anything happen to you but let’s focus on one thing at a time. First, we take care of your hand.”
“I can’t go to the hospital,” I whisper into his shirt. “Please, Shepherd.”
He’s quiet for a moment, his hand moving to the back of my neck, his thumb tracing gentle circles at the base of my skull. “I know where to go. Do you trust me to help you?”
“You don’t have to help me.”
“I want to, Sutton.” He lifts my head from his shoulder so he can look me in the eye, and when he does his expression is pained. “Please, let me.”
