Page 25 of Whistle

His hair was damp from the shower but already curling in big waves around his face. Noting my sheer annoyance, he smirked, his blue eyes lighting up with something that appeared a lot like satisfaction. His feet were bare and slapped over the hardwood floor as he strolled by as if he were as serene as the Dalai Lama himself.

Bullshit.

My hand flew out and grabbed his forearm, yanking him around. Surprise lit his eyes but was quickly replaced by anger as he jerked his arm out of my hold. It was an unsuccessful attempt, my fingers merely tightening deeper into his flesh.

“Look at me.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

Somewhere behind us, a door opened and the sound of the ocean grew louder. “I’ll take this outside,” Rush told the room, and the door shut behind him, leaving us in quiet once again.

Still gripping Bodhi’s arm, I reached up with my free hand to grab his chin with more force than probably necessary. God, this guy made me want to scream. The way he acted like he didn’t give a hot goddamn about anything. Pretending to be tough and unflinching.

I knew better, and the mask he wore infuriated me.

I forced his face around and stared unflinchingly into his eyes. The oxygen in the room seemed to dissipate, my lungs tightening from lack of air. I stared longer, and when he tried to look away, I made a sound that forced him back.

The whites of his eyes were bloodshot, his upper and lower lash lines red and slightly swollen. Purple smudges smeared beneath them, and the tip of his nose was red.

He’s been crying.

He shook his head, trying to hide behind his wild, damp hair, but those golden locks betrayed him and refused to conceal the very view I was after.

Finally unbinding his stare from mine, my attention dropped to his bruised and split face. His cheekbones were prominent, his face below them slightly hollow. It made an easier target for a fist, the way they jutted out, and anger swelled low in my belly because I knew they’d likely be softened if he gained a few pounds.

He doesn’t feed himself. Protect himself… care about himself at all.

Pain pierced my chest, the sensation sharp enough that my grip on his chin slackened. I curled in, just barely, an automatic reaction to the ache.

What the fuck are you doing? Don’t do this to yourself again, Emmett.

I started to pull back, but he stopped me.

The lightest touch of three fingertips lay against the wrist of the hand holding his chin.

Forgetting all my inner turmoil, my eyes fired up, hearing the words he didn’t speak and connecting with the beguiling blue of his stare.

I am in so much trouble. In too damn deep.

He looked as though he might speak, but his lips remained closed. They were chapped and flaky, the plump middle of the bottom raw from being bitten.

Pulling my fingers from his chin, I glided them over his cheek, tucking the hair behind his ear. Once that was done, the pad of my thumb and first finger grazed just beneath the angry, swollen cheek with an open cut in the center.

“This needs covering,” I said, the words nothing more than a scrape over my vocal cords.

He didn’t say a word, but his eyes roamed my face like he was taking notes on my features. The intense attention was not something I was used to, and my scalp prickled beneath the weight of it, a fuzzy sensation buzzing low in my belly.

I pretended not to be drowning in the moment, avoiding his gaze as I focused attentively on his cheek. I poked the puffy skin, laying two fingers on it to see if it felt hot. Dragging my fingers over the cheekbone as if I could somehow feel if it was fractured.

There was a fracture all right.

But it wasn’t in his face.

It was deep inside me. Hidden in my core. A place I thought was foolproof. A place I’d kept secret for twenty years.

He winced, bringing me back, and I realized I’d gotten too close to the open wound.

“Go cover that.” The order was gruff.

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