Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 95559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
I grab my water bottle and fill it up, quickly eat a granola bar, and head toward the front door, only to stop in my tracks when I see a figure, dressed all in black with their hood up, supporting themselves against the door jamb. Kyler.
“Shit, what the hell, Kyler? Did you just get back?” I ask him and it’s only as I get closer, I realize wherever he’s been, he’s clearly had a rough night. There’s a fresh cut above his eyebrow and his eye is starting to bruise. He also has a cut on his lip, his nose looks like it’s been punched a few times, and his arm is wrapped gingerly around his torso.
“What the hell happened?” I ask again, but he shakes his head.
“I’m fine, Thea,” he says, avoiding my question. His voice is raspy either from misuse or because he’s holding back due to being in a lot of pain.
“You don’t look fine. You look as if you’re about to pass out. Let’s get you sitting down,” I tell him as I reach for his arm. He moves back slightly so he’s out of my reach, but quickly realizes without the support of the door, he’ll likely fall over. I try again and this time he lets me grab a hold of him. We walk slowly over to the dining room table in the corner of the kitchen, and I help him sit down on one of the chairs.
“Here, have this,” I say as I hold out my water bottle to him. He raises his eyebrow dubiously, no doubt wondering if it’s one of the weird protein shakes I’ve been known to keep in one of the cupboards.
“It’s water,” I reassure him. He reaches for the bottle and takes two long gulps before placing it on the table.
“Your eyebrow is bleeding.” My voice is barely a whisper. Slowly, I reach out to stop the trickle of red liquid slowly making its way down the side of his face. He quickly grabs my arm, stopping me from making contact.
“Don’t . . .” he starts to say, before pausing so he can gulp down a steadying breath. “Sorry, I mean, it’s a little sore.”
“It looks it.” I pause a beat before continuing. “Stay there, I think Jude has a first aid kit somewhere.” I move toward the cupboards under the sink and look for the green box I’m certain I’ve seen before. One thing about living with hockey players, there’s always a small stash of medical supplies to clean up the odd cut or fat lip which has been picked up on the ice. I find the box and pick it up, together with a bowl of water and some paper towels and move back to the table.
“You don’t have to patch me up, Thea. I can take care of it myself,” Kyler quietly tells me. His voice is laced with distress and a forced swallow works down his throat from the obvious pain he’s in.
“I’m sure you can, Ky, but please, let me do this? If only so I can put the first-aid training I learned in high school to good use,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. There’s a hint of a small smile on Kyler’s lips and I take it as a victory. After a moment’s hesitation he nods once.
“Okay, Nurse Thea, do your thing.”
I stand in front of him and take a cotton ball from the kit. After dipping it in the bowl of water I gently dab it on his eyebrow and clean up the blood now starting to coagulate. Kyler closes his eyes, to allow me better access and the hard set of his jaw indicates he’s biting back the sting of the water washing the wound. I repeat this a few times until I’m certain it is completely clean. There is a defined cut which I’m sure will leave a beautiful scar across his brow once healed, adding to the bad boy persona he seems to like so much.
“Looks like there might be a scar,” I murmur as I dab a small amount of Neosporin on the cut to keep it moist and prevent any infection.
“I hear girls like those,” he replies in a whisper.
I ignore his comment and move to the cut on his lip, cleaning it up in the same way I did his eyebrow. Kyler places one hand on my hip, his fingers digging into me. He pulls me closer, so I’m standing between his legs. I pause my ministrations and move my focus upward. His eyes—a light meadow-green with golden brown flecks—are following my every move, slowly drifting up from the cotton ball in my hand, up my arm, across my neck to my face. They trace every inch of me, and it’s like little pinpricks on my skin. His intense stare blazes over me with an unexpected ferociousness—it’s as if my body has suddenly come alive with each searing glance he graces me with. It’s a feeling I’ve never experienced before—insanely intimate, yet strangely exposing—and I find myself on high alert and begging for more attention. The moment is charged with static energy, and the hairs on the back of my neck are standing on end, ready to shock the next person to make contact with me. Kyler reaches up and gently tucks a wayward strand of hair behind my ear before slowly moving his hand away, lightly tracing my neck as he does. My skin ignites at his touch, leaving a frenzy of sensations in its wake. I quickly think back to my mom’s analogy—he is the Sahara and I’m the Arctic and one of us will outlive the other.