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He blinked in surprise. “Dan, I’m fine. They didn’t even take anything. Well, except a pack of gum.” He snorted. “And their ‘gun’ was actually a fucking hot dog.”

My hands dropped from his face as they clenched into shaking fists. “They held you at fucking gunpoint?”

“No, no, that’s what I’m saying. It was just a hot dog.”

“But they pretended they had a fucking gun?” I was getting a little loud, because I’d never felt this kind of rage before and I didn’t know what to do with it.

“Dan.” Rafe rested his hand on my chest, directly over my furiously pounding heart. “Seriously, I’m fine. Nothing really happened. They didn’t know what they were doing.”

“And that makes it fine?” I snarled. “They tried to fucking mug you. They hurt you.” Stiff with anger, I turned and reached for the door handle. “I’m going to find those shitheads. Right fucking now.”

“No,” Rafe said quickly, grabbing my arm. “There’s no need. Seriously. It’s not as bad as the nosebleed makes it look.” He chuckled, wiping under his nose. “It just started bleeding again when I got in. I was the weird kid at school who always got nosebleeds in class for no reason.”

Some of the anger drained from me as I stared at him, my chest tightening unbearably. The lump returned to my throat, making it hard to swallow.

“Rafe,” I croaked, the intense urge to march right out and track those two assholes down warring with a sudden, desperate need to wrap him in my arms and keep him close. Never let him get hurt again.

I couldn’t stand it. I was usually so calm and chilled, never all that quick to anger and not easily ruffled, but my emotions were in turmoil. He did seem mostly fine, but the dried blood under his nose made him look so vulnerable. It was doing something to me, making me want to destroy everything just to keep him safe.

Swallowing, I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around him, ducking my head to bury my face in his neck. I squeezed my eyes shut as I breathed in his familiar scent.

How could anyone hurt him?

“Seriously, I’m fine,” he repeated for what felt like the tenth time, smoothing his hand up my back. “It was nothing compared to what they did to you.”

No, it wasn’t. It was so much worse. Because they’d done it to him.

Throat bobbing, I lifted my head and gently cupped his cheek on the uninjured side of his face. The backs of my eyes were burning a little, so I blinked fast.

“Are you okay?” I croaked.

He huffed and smiled at me, reaching up to teasingly pinch my chin. “Don’t make me say it again.”

“You should sit down,” I said worriedly, taking his hand and leading him into the living room. “I’ll get some ice for your eye.”

“There’s a bag on the counter,” he told me. “I was icing it when my nose started bleeding again. But I don’t think it’ll even turn into a real shiner.”

My hand tightened on his when the anger surged again, but I forced myself to remain outwardly calm as I grabbed a blanket and covered him with it the moment he sat on the couch. He chuckled but didn’t comment, sniffing as he crumpled the bloody tissue in his fist.

I took it from him and went into the kitchen to throw it out and grab the ice bag. He was still sniffing when I returned to the living room, and my heart lurched when I saw fresh blood trickling from his nose.

“Kitten, your nose is bleeding again,” I said hoarsely, hating the sight of it. Dropping the bag on the coffee table, I hurriedly lifted the hem of my shirt and stepped closer. “Here, use this.”

He laughed and tilted his head away. “You don’t need to ruin your shirt. I’ll just go get another tissue.”

“I’ll get it.” I rushed out before he could move, almost tripping as I ran back into the kitchen to grab a paper towel. While in there, I filled a glass with water for him too, and as I walked quickly back into the living room, I asked, “Do you need food? I can make you something.”

“Uh, I haven’t had dinner yet, but you don’t need to make me anything.” He smiled up at me as he took the glass and tissue, twisting up the latter to push it gingerly into his bleeding nostril.

“I’ll make you something,” I insisted, then hesitated. I didn’t really want to make him feel worse with my terrible cooking. “Or I’ll order you something. What do you want? Tell me.”

Rafe chuckled and leaned forward to set down the glass. “There’s some leftover pasta in the fridge. I’ll have that in a little bit.”

“I’ll heat it up for you.” I turned for the kitchen, but he snagged my hand.

“No, I’m okay for now.” He smiled up at me. “Just sit down.”

Reluctantly, I perched beside him, right on the edge of the couch cushion. My knee started bouncing as I clasped my hands together and squeezed my fingers tight, the rage that had still been simmering starting to swell again.