“So the pain isn’t going to go away?”
She frowned. “You will be feeling some pain. Burns are very painful. But it’s about time for your regular dose, so I can give you that. Once it kicks in, I’m going to have to change your bandages.”
I bit back a groan. She was only doing her job; I wasn’t going to make her feel bad for it.
True to her word, just as I was getting some relief from the pain, she appeared carrying clean bandages and some supplies. “Look who I found out in the hall,” the nurse said, propping open the door with her foot.
It opened wide when Holt shouldered through, his eyes going straight to the bed where I lay. I reached up to brush the hair out of my eyes, taking a moment to worry about the way I looked before stinging pain reminded me I was an idiot for worrying about the way I looked.
He appeared beside me soundlessly and brushed back the tangled hair, tucking it behind my ear. But instead of pulling away, he trailed his fingertips lightly across my cheek over to the bridge of my nose where he trailed them downward before lifting his hand away.
“You have a million freckles,” he said, those icy eyes looking anything but frozen.
My stomach did a summersault. “Curse of a redhead,” I replied, my voice scraping from my throat. Geez, could I be any more unsexy?
The nurse didn’t say anything, but I felt her stare and I tore my eyes away from him to peek at her. She was watching us as she placed all her supplies on the small rolling table beside me.
“Is this a bad time?” Holt asked, not once looking away from my face.
“You’re just in time for the torture,” I replied.
“I’ll be as gentle as I can,” the nurse said, settling beside me. “Maybe it’s good he’s here. He can distract you from the discomfort.”
“You’re in pain?” he said, his glacial eyes sharpened. His full, kissable lips pulled into a straight line, like the idea of me being in pain made him unhappy.
“It’s not so bad,” I said, realizing I didn’t want him to see how much it hurt.
“I’m just going to remove the bandages, apply this antibiotic, and then rewrap it,” the nurse said, drawing away my attention.
Holt grabbed a chair and pulled it up beside the bed, sitting down and propping those humungous feet of his up on the end of the mattress.
“Your feet are huge,” I blurted.
He grinned. “You look like you’re twelve.”
“I do not!”
He face grew serious. “How old are you anyway?”
“Asking a lady her age is impolite,” the nurse said as she peeled away what was left of the bandage.
If he replied, I didn’t hear. All my attention was sucked down onto my wrist. It looked like a package of raw hamburger. Shiny, raw hamburger. In some places, the skin was bubbled up and loose; in others, the skin was completely gone, leaving behind nothing but red, fleshy-looking parts. The air brushed over it, and I bit down on my lower lip. I never knew air had the ability to inflict pain.
“It’s going to look real bad, but that’s just the skin’s way of healing. Don’t be upset by what you see.”
But I was upset. It looked awful and it felt worse. I knew it would heal, and I didn’t care about the scars it would leave behind, but in that moment, my injuries were a reminder of everything I endured—everything I lost.
I stared down at the mess as the nurse went about cleaning the area and applying the antibiotic. A fine sheen of cold sweat broke out over my forehead and my stomach turned.
Something warm and solid landed on my thigh. I could feel the heat of it even through the blankets that covered my legs. My eyes moved away from the burn and toward the hand that was lying in my lap. Slowly, my gaze traveled up his arm, past his shoulder and unshaven jaw to collide with his eyes. His thumb drew a lazy circle over the blanket, and I forgot about everything else going on around me.
If a single touch from him could make the entire world fall away, then what would his kiss be like?
“So will you smack me if I ask you how old you are again?” he said. I stared at his mouth as he formed the words.
I shook my head. “I’m twenty-two.”
His fingers tightened around my thigh for a second before relaxing once more. “That’s good.”
Why was that good? “How old are you?”
“Twenty-four.”
“Almost done,” the nurse said. I had completely forgotten she was there. I looked back at my wrist, thankful it was already being covered with a fresh bandage. “One more to go,” she said, moving around the other side of the bed.