Chapter 13
SHEPHERD
Ipull into the staff lot, and park close to the side entrance. Before I can cut the engine, she’ s already fumbling with her door handle, the blood-soaked dish towel clutched in her fist.
“I’ll get it,” I tell her before hopping out and circling the hood in a few quick strides. “Okay,” I say, opening her door before she can. “Easy.”
“I can walk.” Her voice has that edge to it. The one that dares me to suggest otherwise.
“I know.” I keep my tone neutral as I lean across her, careful not to brush against her injured hand. The faint smell of whiskey and something floral clings to her as I reach for the seatbelt. The buckle clips free. “And you’re going to. In a second.”
She looks up, her eyes rimmed red, lashes damp. Gone is the bartender who could silence a drunk with a single look. Her shoulders sag against the seat. She’s tired and looking a bit defeated, but she’s still Sutton. Just…stripped of some of her armor.
I extend my hand, palm up. She stares at it.
One heartbeat.
Two.
Then her fingers slide into mine, cold and trembling slightly. I run my thumb over her knuckles—just once—and her grip tightens in response. Something warm unfurls in my chest, spreading outward to my fingertips.
It feels good to hold her hand.
I guide her inside and through the facility.
There’s a peacefulness about the place that only comes by being here at night or first thing in the morning.
The lights are bright, the floors clean, and the air is faintly scented with disinfectants and rubber mats.
It’s a controlled environment, but to me, it’s home away from home.
Jamal is near the supply room, loading something into a cart. He looks up the second he hears our footsteps. “What did you break now, Shep?” he asks, then his eyes flick beside me to Sutton and the bloody towel in her hand. My stomach knots. “Oh. Who’s this?”
“Jamal this is Sutton. She’s had an accident I was hoping you could look at.” My voice sounds steadier than I feel. The sight of her blood makes my chest tight, like someone’s squeezing my ribs together. I hate that I can’t magically fix this for her and take her pain away.
In any other situation, Jamal would probably give me a questioning glance and ask me what the fuck I’m doing bringing someone in here for medical treatment. But this time it’s like he’s reading my mind as I beg him not to ask questions.
Beside me, Sutton’s spine stiffens. I can feel her fear radiating between us, and it takes everything in me not to pull her closer.
Jamal steps forward with that calm, competent energy trainers are born with.
“Hey Sutton,” he says, his voice soft and easy.
“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Jamal. I’m one of the team physicians. Can I take a look?”
Sutton swallows back her nerves and then she nods and says, “Yes, please.” Her vulnerability slices through me.
I’ve never heard her sound so small, and it awakens something fierce and protective in my chest. Jamal gestures toward one of the exam rooms. Sutton steps inside, her gaze flitting around the room.
She pauses, and when she arches a brow in my direction, I recognize the panic in her eyes.
I huff a soft laugh to ease her worry. “Yeah, okay. It may be more of an athletic training bay than a clinic, but it’s got everything Jamal needs to handle a mess.
” I keep my hand at the small of her back, not pushing, but needing the connection as much as she might.
My heart pounds with how much I want to keep her safe. “You’re okay,” I murmur. “I promise.”
Her breath shudders. “I know.”
She’s lying.
I can see it all over her face.
But she goes along with it anyway.
Jamal pulls latex gloves on with a snap that echoes in the small room as Sutton perches on the edge of the exam table. Her shoulders are squared, her spine a perfect line of tension.
“Alright, Sutton, I’m going to unwrap this and see what we’ve got going on. I’m sorry, it might sting a little.”
Sutton lifts her chin like she’s about to stare down a firing squad, her jaw muscle pulsing beneath pale skin. “It’s fine.” Her voice is steady, but I notice her good hand gripping the edge of the table until her knuckles turn white.
Part of me wants to reach for that hand.
Part of me thinks she’d hate me for it.
Jamal’s mouth twitches. “You know, it’s funny, I think I’ve heard that exact sentence from every tough guy who’s ever limped into this facility.
” He glances up at Sutton who isn’t smiling, her eyes fixed on some invisible point on the wall.
“Somehow though, I think you might be tougher than all of them.”
I know she is.
But I hate that she has to be.
He unwraps the towel with delicate precision.
The fabric peels away, revealing a gash that splits her palm like a fault line, deep and jagged, with edges angry and red against her pale skin.
I want to look away but can’t, caught between the need to protect her and the knowledge that she’d despise me for it.
Sutton doesn’t flinch.
Not outwardly anyway.
But her breathing changes, shallow and fast, her nostrils flaring almost imperceptibly. I recognize it instantly. Pain held hostage behind stubbornness…the same way she holds everything else.
Jamal nods. “Yeah. That’s going to need stitches.”
Her eyes flick up to mine, sharp with humiliation, like she’s waiting for me to say “I told you so” but I don’t.
Jamal glances between us like he’s reading a scoreboard. “You two dating?”
Honestly, I’m not sure what we are. Are we dating?
Are we not dating? She kissed me but she told me it didn’t mean anything.
I kissed her not too many minutes ago in the bar parking lot, but it was really more to calm her down than anything romantic.
Not that I didn’t enjoy pressing my lips to hers.
The ache spreading through me now tells a different story though.
Selfishly, I hesitate to answer Jamal hoping beyond all measure that Sutton will answer with a resounding yes, or even just a slight head nod, but she doesn’t.
The silence stretches between us, heavy with possibility.
She inhales sharply, her cheeks flushing pink, and something in me crumbles at the panic in her eyes.
“No,” I say finally, the word like gravel in my throat.
Her gaze snaps to me, half offended or half relieved, I don’t know and that kills me, but Jamal hums like he doesn’t believe either of us regardless. “Okay. Well, sit tight. I’m going to numb it first.”
Sutton nods once, her jaw set. “Okay.”
Jamal moves efficiently, prepping the area, swabbing her wound, and setting out supplies all while Sutton watches the tray like it’s the enemy.
Sensing her anxiety like I do my brothers’ from time to time, I step closer, my heart hammering against my ribs. It’s just enough that she doesn’t feel alone, but I’m not so close she feels caged.
Her eyes come to mine automatically. “That’s going to hurt,” she whispers, so quiet it barely exists. It’s the closest thing to vulnerability she’s offered all night and it makes my chest ache in a way I’m not prepared for.
“Yeah. But it won’t last.” My words feel inadequate against the storm welling in her eyes.
She swallows and her body trembles and I want to brush my thumb across her cheek so badly my hand twitches at my side.
“You can squeeze my hand,” I add, trying to sound casual while my pulse races.
“I’m fine.” Her voice cracks on fine.
“I know you are,” I say simply, fighting the urge to pull her into my arms. “Squeeze anyway.”
Her gaze holds mine for another beat, something raw and desperate flickering behind her eyes.
She’s searching for a catch but there isn’t one.
I just want to be her shelter if only for a moment.
I want to help in any way I can. Slowly, her good hand lifts and curls around mine.
Her grip is tight. Too tight. It hurts, but I’d let her break every damn bone in my hand if it helped.
She’s bracing.
Jamal looks over. “Good plan. Alright, Sutton. A little pinch.”
The needle goes in and her fingers crush mine.
I don’t react and I don’t pull away. I let her take whatever she needs from me in this moment because that’s what being the steady patient fixer of a man is for.
She squeezes harder when Jamal starts the first stitch.
Her nostrils flare and her shoulders rise but I’m focused on her face, not the wound.
“Fuck…” The word escapes through her clenched teeth and her eyes flood tears she refuses to surrender. The sight of her fighting so hard slices through me like a serrated blade.
“You’re doing great,” Jamal says, his tone professional and warm.
Sutton’s laughs is a raw, feral sound. “Okay. Sure.”
Jamal keeps threading her skin. “Most people curse a lot more than you.”
“I’m saving it for later,” she mutters.
That earns a soft chuckle out of me before I can stop it. Sutton’s eyes flick to me, surprised by the sound, and for half a second her grip loosens like she forgot she was hurting. Then another stitch comes, and she tightens again.
Jamal works quickly, cleanly. “How’d you do it?”
“Dropped a glass,” she says flatly.
Jamal nods, not probing. “Waitress?”
“Bartender.”
“That where you met this guy?” Jamal asks her, nodding at me.
Sutton’s laugh this time is quieter. Less bitter. “Unfortunately.”
She kids.
I think.
I grin regardless, and she rolls her eyes, but there’s a little less panic in her face now. Jamal ties off the final stitch. “Okay. We’re done.”
Sutton exhales like she’s been holding her breath for an hour and Jamal bandages her hand with practiced care. “Keep it dry. Come back in ten days, we’ll take the stitches out. If you see redness, swelling, call me. Shepherd can give you my number.”
“Thank you.” Sutton’s gaze drops to her wrapped palm. “How much—”
“Nope,” Jamal says instantly, wagging a finger. “You’re with Shep. That means you’re one of ours now.”
Sutton stiffens again. “I’m not—”