Page 39 of Protect

He looks brighter today; his eyes are less glassy. From his chart, I know that they’ve significantly lowered the dosage on his pain meds, offering ibuprofen more frequently. Which is standard for four days post burn.

The only thing that’s a little off about him is that his beard has grown out. I’ve never seen him with one, but it makes sense, I know the guys don’t shave in the field and he was out there for over a week before his time here.

It gives him this whole lumberjack vibe that’s only heightened by his perfectly unkempt wavy hair, his big muscular body and his tattoos.

I swallow and go for it. “I-I’m going to untie your gown now,” I say softly, raising the bed up, then pulling down the blankets covering his thighs so they rest at the foot of his bed. His long legs are free of any clothing, save for the dressings on his thigh. I know he’s only wearing the hospital gown, and I know there’ll be nothing underneath it, so even as his thick muscular thighs draw me in, I remind myself again...

Patient. He’s your patient.

I finish raising the bed up to waist height. His eyes meet mine and he nods as I lean in and reach up and around him to unite the gown at his neck. I don’t know how he smells so good after being in the hospital but it's damn distracting. My fingers brush his skin, and I hear him suck in a breath.

“Sorry. My hands are cold,” I apologize.

“No, your hands feel good—uh, fine. They feel fine.” Rowan’s voice is a close whisper, so close, and his breath comes shallow as I slink the gown carefully and slowly down, revealing his bare chest. Taking special care to make sure nothing brushes the dressings on his arm. I lay the gown across his lap, making sure he stays coveredthere,at least for now.

One test at a time, universe. I pump myself up to actually look at him, Ihaveto look at him to wash him.

Good fucking God.He’s beautiful.

I realize when I’m thoroughly finished my ogling that Rowan is watching me watch him. He looks down at his bare chest and then back up to my eyes.Shit.

I look away, closing my eyes as I turn and reach for my rags. When I have my back to him, I do my best to regain my composure from the vision of him. The terrain of ink, hard muscle, and scant trail of hair that makes up Rowan’s chest. I take a breath and soak the rags way more thoroughly than I need to. My heart is thundering so loud in my chest it’s like a soundtrack to my thoughts. The silence in the room is deafening, droplets of water hit the basin as I wring out the first rag, willing myself to get through this. I take a deep breath and turn toward him.

“Here. You can wash your face while I start.” I offer Rowan a cloth in a feeble attempt to distract us both, and then turn back to wring one out for myself.

Get it together, Vi. He isn’t that beautiful, you’ll see, when you look at him next, you’ll realize you’re overreacting.

I turn back around and begin to carefully scrub little circles over his chest, I’m wrong. He’s just as beautiful as he was the last time I looked.

Rowan washes his face as I smooth the rag under his strong jaw, down his neck, over his sculpted shoulder and then continue slowly to his muscled pecs. He sighs, and I can’tfucking believe it, but I think washing him is makingmewet, which has never, in any of my years of nursing, happened before.

I try to keep my breath steady, clenching my thighs together to stop the ache as I wash his other shoulder. I run the cloth over his good arm and the hawk tattoo that stares back at me. I do my best to avoid looking at it, before setting the used rag down and grabbing a fresh one from the basin. The ten seconds I manage to look away from him is the only way I’m holding it together right now. I need them to compose myself.

“You okay?” Rowan's strained voice cuts into my thoughts. “You just seem like you’re having a hard time taking a deep breath or something.”

Oh God. Was I panting?

“Fine, just concentrating.”

On your body.

“I know it’s hard to look at,” he observes, glancing at his visible burns. I register that he thinks I’m grossed out.

“These?” I ask rhetorically, gesturing to them. “This is nothing, and I don’t even see the wound. I only see the healing. The progress,” I tell him as I finish washing his chest and waist, actually having to wash in the crevices of his insanely chiseled abs.

That’s a first.

“As long as every day it changes for the better, then it’s all part of the process,” I breathe out shakily.

“Well, all right, that’s a more positive way to look at it. All I see is damage,” he says, his brow furrowed.

“Can you, um, sit up, and I’ll...get your back?” I ask.

He grips the bed to lean forward, slowly, I assume to hinder the pain I know he’s feeling and his arms flex, and as I watch him my mouth waters.

Another first.

I lean into him to reach his back, knowing at this point I just have to get this over with. I start thinking of anything I can to distract myself from the expanse of Rowan’s wide rippled shoulders, as my phone dings in my pocket, once then twice.

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