Page 25 of Forged By Sacrifice

I had to put my hands to my ears because the screams were so loud. I turned to see Mac watching me, as if trying to figure out a puzzle. Eli and Truck had gone back to the bar where Andy, Lacey, and two more bartenders were trying to keep up with the orders.

“I should go help,” I said as I swiped at the cut on my leg that had started to sting.

I was surprised when I came up with blood. Mac saw it and pulled me down the hall toward the office. He punched in the key code to get in and led me to the small private bath.

“I think I can get it,” I told him as he futzed under the counter, coming up with a first aid kit.

“You can’t even see it. Turn around.” He was all calm. I kept forgetting he was a military man. That he’d seen and been in worse situations than a cut from an old wooden bench. He joked around so much that it was often hard to remember. Even when he was serious, he didn’t have an aura to him that I’d encountered in other soldiers. He was calmer, lower key about it.

I turned, pulling my floaty dress to the front and holding it tight so he could see better. Mac cleared his throat and sat on the toilet lid before dragging me a little closer until I was almost between his spread legs. The music from the bar faded away as my body heated at his touch and the intimate position. Heart beating fast, face flushing, I thanked the Lord I wasn’t facing him.

“I think there’s a splinter in there in addition to the cut.”

I risked looking over my shoulder at him just as he looked up. Our eyes locked, and his fingers on my non-injured leg caressed my skin.

“It’s going to hurt like hel?heck if I take it out, but I don’t think we can let it stay in there,” he said quietly.

I gulped. “No. It isn’t good to let things fester.”

His fingers were still caressing my leg. My cheeks were flushed. I could feel them without looking in the mirror over the sink. It wasn’t from the heat of the bar or the humidity from outside. It was from this man. The man who thought I was a bad idea—not because of me—but because of my family and his future plans. I needed to remember that. I turned back toward the wall, trying to get ahold of the emotions flowing through me.

He pulled his hands away, and my heart beat in that constant swell of relief and disappointment he was good at bringing out in me. He dug through the first aid case and came up with a pair of tweezers and an alcohol swab, opening it with his teeth and making me swallow hard at the image.

“Ready?” he asked.

No. “Yes,” I whispered.

It stung, and I twisted my dress in my hands to keep from whimpering and embarrassing myself. It was just a stupid scrape. I’d had worse in the salon from burns and scissor cuts.

“Okay, I’m going to try to get it out,” he warned just as he stuck the tweezers in, and I did let out a little whimper. “Sorry,” he said. I clenched my hands tighter, biting my lip, and gritting my teeth.

“There. Done. Out. Gone. Let me put some Neosporin and a Band-Aid on it.”

His hands were gentle as he rubbed the ointment on. And then he blew on it, cool air that made my whole body burst into one big flame.

“Oh…hell…sorry.”

I jumped, and Mac’s hand went up my dress, and we both muttered something as we turned to look out the open door to where Truck stood, hands in his pockets, grinning.

I let my dress go, and it swooshed over Mac’s face. He laughed and pushed himself out from under it.

“I have a cut. A splinter.” The words came out of me in a tumble as I started to move out of the bathroom, but Mac placed a hand at my waist, halting me.

“Stop. I haven’t put the Band-Aid on yet.”

I looked down at him, and he was trying not to laugh. I looked back at Truck, and he was also holding in his laughter.

I waved a finger at both of them. “Get your minds out of the gutter, boys.”

“I’ll just go use the public restroom,” Truck said. His laughter echoed through the room as he left.

I put my forehead in my hand. “This is awful.”

Mac put the Band-Aid on my leg and then stood just as I turned, crowding me so my back was pushed into the towel rack that Ava always had real linens on since it was their private bathroom.

“Why?” Mac asked, eyes searching mine, smile disappearing.

“Why what?”