Page 7 of My Damaged Protector

“You need to get this looked at,” I say.

He shakes his head. “No, I'll have it cleaned at the motel.”

“The hospital would be better.”

“No, I'm not going to the hospital,” he insists.

“Ian, you've bled so much already, and you didn't even notice.”

He shrugs at my words, leaving me with no choice but to offer him help. He is injured because of me, after all.

“Fine then, let me clean it up for you.”

“No, you don't have to. I'll get it sorted myself.” He instantly declines my offer, making me wonder if there's more to it.

I can't let him go unattended, though.

“I insist.”

“I really don't think it's necessary,” he continues to protest.

“Please.”

He sighs and then nods for me to open the door.

I let go of his hand, fetch my key, and open the door, waiting for him to enter before I do.

I motion to one of the seats in my big living room, and I continue to walk farther inside the house to fetch the first aid box.

“Please take a seat.”

Soon, I'm back, and he's rolled his shirt sleeve to his shoulder for easy access.

As I clean the cut, I realize it's deeper than I'd assumed.

“You need to get this stitched at the hospital,” I say.

He shakes his head at my words, not giving me any more explanation than that.

“Do you have something against the hospital?” I ask.

“Yes.” That's all I get.

I resist the urge to ask him why, knowing that he probably wouldn't answer anyway. I focus on patching his wound as best as I can.

It takes a while to get things done, and while I'm no nurse, I think I did a decent job.

When I'm done, he glances at his arm, a small smile on his face.

“Thanks,” he whispers.

“You're welcome,” I respond, meeting his eyes.

Suddenly, I am aware of how close we have gotten over the past few minutes. To clean his cut, I had to be right beside him, his hand now on my lap.

He notices the proximity in our bodies, too, and he swallows hard.

“I should go,” he says, but he makes no move to leave. Instead, his eyes leave mine to stare at my lips.

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