Chapter 12
CHAPTER
TWELVE
ASPEN
Once again, Emmett and I are at a stalemate.
He’s pushing me away after agreeing to help, and it’s enough to give a girl a complex.
Closing my eyes, I force my most professional smile—the one I use with patients who are a pain in the ass.
“Removing burn dressings can be painful. Let me know if you need a break,” I tell him, just like I would anyone else.
“I won’t.”
Obstinate man.
His muscles tense under my touch when I don’t start right away. They’re hard and tan—clearly the kind you get from working outside and using your body as a tool.
My attention shifts from the burn to his broad chest and the smattering of dark hair across his pecs and down the trail of hair to the grey sweats sitting low on his hips, revealing a white band of scar tissue along the curve of his hip. He’s rugged and unintentionally handsome.
My gaze lingers.
Having him in my house sans shirt doesn’t feel clinical.
And that’s a problem.
I’d be smart to remember this man is a very recently discharged patient.
Shame burns through me.
And judging by the tight set of his shoulders, I’ve already let this go too far.
He shifts his weight, guarded in every movement. Beneath that, though, there’s something deeper—the kind of pain that doesn’t come from his injury. One buried deep so no one notices.
And here I am, ogling him while he’s in pain. We might not be in the hospital, but at this moment, he’s in my care.
Focus, Aspen.
I glance out the window over his shoulder, allowing myself the space I so clearly need to reset my mindset.
You’re a professional.
You can do this.
He’s not even that attractive.
Okay, that last part is a lie.
I duck my head and work.
We’re still too close, it’s maddening.
“This is going to hurt,” I warn again.
“I know.”
It feels like we’re talking about more than his burn.
His palms press down the flank of his thigh, his pinky brushing my leg.
“Okay then.” I ignore the wobble in my knees at his slight touch and lift the dressing from his skin.
A tic in his jaw is the only indication that Emmet’s uncomfortable, but I don’t stop. Sometimes it’s better to work through the pain.
Knowing that, I still find myself swallowing down another apology he doesn’t want to hear.
“Almost there.”
He wets his lips, his piercing eyes giving me permission to do what’s needed. The bandage comes off as well as it can, and I wash the wound, hiding my grimace every time his breath catches.
Then, I switch my attention from the burn to the cut on his brow for a moment, letting the do it’s thing.
With my free hand, I cradle his jaw, his stubble scratching my palm, before tipping his chin down and smoothing a thin layer of ointment on the gash.
Silence settles over us as I move back to his shoulder, applying the ointment and covering it with a fresh dressing.
By the time I’m smoothing the last piece of tape over it, my muscles are strung tighter than a bow . . . as are his.
“That’s it.” I step back, my hands trembling. I hide it by cleaning up.
Space.
I need space and air. Maybe a cold shower, too.
Since when has caring for someone left me feeling strung out?
I check the clock on the stove. “Can you be ready in ten minutes?” I ask, snapping the kit closed.
He nods, grimacing when he stands.
“Are you sure—” I start, unable to help myself.
“I’d like to keep a sliver of dignity, if it’s okay with you.” He’s not as short with me this time, just tired.
I lift my hands in surrender, watching as he crosses the kitchen and slips out my front door. All I can do is let him go, though, or I’ll push him away and risk him screwing up his recovery.
But the thing is, I already care more than I should, and I can’t put my finger on why.
Since he held onto me in that helicopter like he needed me, I’ve felt this tether to him, like maybe I need this too.