Page 40 of Cross the Line
I complied. Too dizzy and sore to argue. The bathroom felt smaller with both of us in it. The air thick with steam and something I wasn't ready to look at. Hawley knelt before me. Drying me off before opening the medicine cabinet to retrieve antiseptic and gauze.
"Let me see." He gestured to my side.
I adjusted the towel to expose the bruising. Which looked even worse now. A violent bloom of purple against clean skin. Something hardened in Hawley's face as he assessed the damage. His jaw clenching slightly.
"Breathe in."
I complied. Winced as the action stretched tender muscles. Hawley's fingertips pressed along my ribs. Checking with a gentleness that contradicted everything I thought I knew aboutthe man. His contact was clinical but somehow personal too. Each point of pressure a small shock against my skin.
"Exhale slowly." His breath warmed my shoulder as he leaned closer to examine a particularly dark bruise.
I released the breath. Watched his profile as he concentrated. This close, I could see the tiny flecks of amber I'd noticed before. The faint scar near his right eyebrow. The way his lashes cast shadows on his cheekbones. He looked younger somehow. Less braced.
I remembered Hawley in the boxing ring. All controlled power. And now the same palms traced antiseptic across the scrapes on my side. Pressure so light it barely registered. The contradiction fascinated me. The fighter and the healer in the same hands.
"You're good at this."
His gaze flicked up to mine briefly before returning to his task. "Basic first aid is part of the job."
"Not like this. Not this deliberate."
His fingers stilled against my skin. For a moment, I thought I'd pushed too far. Spoken something that would make him retreat into silence again. But instead, he simply reached for a bandage. His expression thoughtful.
"My third foster home. The father was a paramedic. Taught me how to patch people up." He smoothed the adhesive against my skin. "Said it was a useful skill for someone who got into as many fights as I did."
It was more personal information than he'd offered since we met. I stayed perfectly still. Afraid that any action might break whatever spell had temporarily lowered his guard.
"Did you get into a lot of fights?"
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Enough to get very good at this."
His fingers traced the edge of a bruise. The contact so light it sent a shiver across my skin. I told myself it was just the medication making me hypersensitive. Nothing more.
Hawley tended to each scratch with deliberate attention. The antiseptic stung, but his contact remained gentle. Almost apologetic. When he finished with the cuts, he reached for a small tube.
"Muscle relaxant. For your shoulder. The doctor mentioned it would help with the strain."
I nodded. Braced myself as his palms made contact with my bare skin. He worked methodically. Found knots of tension I hadn't even realized were there. The cream warmed against my skin as he massaged it in with deliberate pressure. His thumbs working circles into muscles that had tightened from the fall and subsequent tension.
"Breathe." The reminder came when I unconsciously held my breath as he found a particularly tender spot.
Next came the bandages for my ribs. Hawley unrolled the elastic wrap. He began binding my torso.
"Not too tight. It needs to stabilize without restricting breathing."
I raised my arms as much as my injuries allowed. Watched as he circled the bandage around me. His profile was close enough that I could count his eyelashes. Feel his measured breaths against my skin. There was something strangely intimate about standing nearly naked while Hawley wrapped my injuries. His palms occasionally brushing me as he worked.
When my ribs were properly bound, he addressed my sprained wrist. Wrapped it with practiced efficiency before securing the bandage.
"Here." He retrieved what seemed to be a pair of his own loose sweatpants. "These should be easier to manage than your own clothes."
I fumbled with them one-handed until Hawley sighed and knelt before me. Held them open so I could step in. He pulled them up with clinical detachment. Maintaining what dignity I had left.
"Can you walk?"
"I think so." Though my legs felt unsteady beneath me.
Hawley didn't wait for me to prove it. Simply stepped to my side and slid his arm around my waist. Bearing much of my weight as we made our slow way to my bedroom. He helped me onto the bed. Adjusted pillows to support my injured side.
