Page 64 of The Phantom's Vice

I frown, crossing my arms over my chest. “Listen, buddy. Boxed mac and cheese got me through most of my adult life. Don’t knock it.”

Ghost shakes his head, pulling open the fridge and pulling out a myriad of ingredients. “I will make you chicken lo mein. I have seen you eat that many times. At least that hassomeprotein.” He grumbles the last part under his breath, and I have to stifle my giggle.

Ghost begins chopping vegetables, staring intently at his hands the whole time he does it. I’mso enamored by his concentration that I don’t realize I’m staring until he whips his head up, meeting my gaze head-on.

“Is something the matter?” he asks, returning his gaze to his hands as he makes another chop.

I mull over the thoughts running through my mind, debating whether I should tell him. “No. I was just thinking how hot you look when you’re cooking for me.”

A choking noise leaves Ghost’s throat, and he whips his head up again. “I—what did you?—”

“Holy shit!” I screech, holding a hand over my mouth as I stare down at Ghost’s hand. Thick crimson liquid pours from his hand, pooling onto the countertop and coating the vibrant veggies in that same dark shade. “Ghost, your hand!”

He’s still looking at my face, unmoving. After a moment or two, he visibly shakes, then turns his eyes to where my finger is outstretched, pointing in horror.

“Shit.” He lets out a heavy sigh, placing the knife down before grabbing a dishcloth and pressing it to the wound. Bright red coats the cloth in minutes, and Ghost lets out another irritated sigh while I watch on, frozen.

“You… I’m so sorry,” I whisper, a tremor of guilt shooting down to my bones. “I didn’t realize you had to look to stopthatfrom happening.”I’m the worst. I knew what those words would do to him, yet I still teased him.

Remembering I have legs, I hop up from the barstool and race around the island, taking Ghost’s wrapped hand between mine.

“Here,” I murmur, pulling him toward the sink. “We have to clean it so it doesn’t get infected. Then I’ll bandage it for you. I’m no doctor, but I’ll try my best,” I promise, pulling the cloth away to get a better look at the cut. Immediately, thick red begins pooling from the wound, and I hiss through my teeth.It’s deep. Probably going to need stitches.

“I’m so sorry, Ghost,” I whisper, tears pricking the corner of my eyes even thoughhe’sthe one who’s hurt. “I never would have said that if I knew?—”

“Please… please don’t say that,” he murmurs, turning his face from mine. “I would rather go through this than to never hear you say those sweet words.”

My pulse spikes, and I have to focus on taking even breaths as I start to wash his hand under the sink. I take a dime size of soap into my palm, gently rubbing the streaked blood from the rest ofhis hand. I know he can’t feel anything, but it would still feel wrong if I started going to town with the cleaning. Though he can’t feel pain, his skin is still sensitive and needs to be treated as such.

Ghost watches my movements, his body rigid. “Why are you being so kind to me?”

I shrug. “Because the world is not.” I pull his hand from the water, grabbing a fresh cloth and pressing it to the wound to quell the bleeding. “Where’s your first-aid kit?”

Ghost points under the sink. “All over the house. But I do have one right here. As you’ve seen why.”

I wince, wracked with guilt at knowing I’m the cause of this injury, even if he says he doesn’t care. Pushing the guilt aside, I place the kit on the counter, my mouth going wide as I take in the myriad of equipment stuffed inside.This isnota normal first-aid kit. It almost looks like a mini crash cart.

“Sutures should be at the top, along with the bandages.” Ghost nods toward a small rectangular package dressed in nondescript white paper. “They’re already threaded, so you don’t need to worry about that.”

“Right. Gotcha.” I pull out the pack, and I’m inthe process of opening it when Ghost pulls it from my fingers.

“As much as I would love for you to do this, I have much more experience, darling.” As if to prove his point, he pulls out a suture with one hand and begins threading the needle into his skin. Within minutes, he has a ladder of perfectly straight stitches running along the length of the wound, which he ties off and cuts with his teeth.

“Damn. Guess you do know what you’re doing,” I say, digging into the box for the aforementioned bandages. My fingers curl around the large cotton wrap, and I hold it against my chest when he attempts to pull this from me as well.

“Not a chance. I know how to wrap a wrist. Put it here,” I say, holding out a hand expectantly. Ghost sighs but still places his hand in mine, and I wrap the wound. The real reason I want to do it is because I fear he will be too rough with the wound. I know he’s done this thousands of times by the state of his hands, but it also looks like he’s given zero care to his skin’s comfort.

Once I’m done with the wrap, I place my lips gently against his knuckles, holding his hand tight when he tries to flinch backreflexively.

“I still can’t believe it,” he murmurs, pushing into the embrace now that the initial shock is over. “You’re a goddess, Brett.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” I mumble, my cheeks flaming. I release his hand, turning to close the first-aid kit and place it back under the sink.

When I straighten, Ghost is looking at the countertop, his shoulders shaking. “Ghost?” I ask, stepping up next to him. “You okay?” I reach out, but as soon as my fingertips touch his shoulder, he reels back.

He places his head in his palms, his chest heaving as shudders wrack his entire body. “I’m so sorry. I ruined it.”

I frown at his tone. I’ve never heard anything like it before. He sounds… tortured. I look at where his gaze is trained and find he’s staring at the vegetables, now coated with his blood.Dinner. He’s upset because he thinks he ruined dinner for me.

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