Her gaze snaps to me, half offended or half relieved, I don’t know and that kills me, but Jamal hums like he doesn’t believeeither of us regardless. “Okay. Well, sit tight. I’m going to numb it first.”
Sutton nods once, her jaw set. “Okay.”
Jamal moves efficiently, prepping the area, swabbing her wound, and setting out supplies all while Sutton watches the tray like it’s the enemy.
Sensing her anxiety like I do my brothers’ from time to time, I step closer, my heart hammering against my ribs. It’s just enough that she doesn’t feel alone, but I’m not so close she feels caged.
Her eyes come to mine automatically. “That’s going to hurt,” she whispers, so quiet it barely exists. It’s the closest thing to vulnerability she’s offered all night and it makes my chest ache in a way I’m not prepared for.
“Yeah. But it won’t last.” My words feel inadequate against the storm welling in her eyes.
She swallows and her body trembles and I want to brush my thumb across her cheek so badly my hand twitches at my side.
“You can squeeze my hand,” I add, trying to sound casual while my pulse races.
“I’m fine.” Her voice cracks on fine.
“I know you are,” I say simply, fighting the urge to pull her into my arms. “Squeeze anyway.”
Her gaze holds mine for another beat, something raw and desperate flickering behind her eyes. She’s searching for a catch but there isn’t one. I just want to be her shelter if only for a moment. I want to help in any way I can. Slowly, her good hand lifts and curls around mine. Her grip is tight. Too tight. It hurts, but I’d let her break every damn bone in my hand if it helped.
She’s bracing.
Jamal looks over. “Good plan. Alright, Sutton. A little pinch.”
The needle goes in and her fingers crush mine. I don’t reactand I don’t pull away. I let her take whatever she needs from me in this moment because that’s what being the steady patient fixer of a man is for. She squeezes harder when Jamal starts the first stitch. Her nostrils flare and her shoulders rise but I’m focused on her face, not the wound.
“Fuck…” The word escapes through her clenched teeth and her eyes flood tears she refuses to surrender. The sight of her fighting so hard slices through me like a serrated blade.
“You’re doing great,” Jamal says, his tone professional and warm.
Sutton’s laughs is a raw, feral sound. “Okay. Sure.”
Jamal keeps threading her skin. “Most people curse a lot more than you.”
“I’m saving it for later,” she mutters.
That earns a soft chuckle out of me before I can stop it. Sutton’s eyes flick to me, surprised by the sound, and for half a second her grip loosens like she forgot she was hurting. Then another stitch comes, and she tightens again.
Jamal works quickly, cleanly. “How’d you do it?”
“Dropped a glass,” she says flatly.
Jamal nods, not probing. “Waitress?”
“Bartender.”
“That where you met this guy?” Jamal asks her, nodding at me.
Sutton’s laugh this time is quieter. Less bitter. “Unfortunately.”
She kids.
I think.
I grin regardless, and she rolls her eyes, but there’s a little less panic in her face now. Jamal ties off the final stitch. “Okay. We’re done.”
Sutton exhales like she’s been holding her breath for an hour and Jamal bandages her hand with practiced care. “Keep itdry. Come back in ten days, we’ll take the stitches out. If you see redness, swelling, call me. Shepherd can give you my number.”
