“Jonah, you’re not okay.”

“I’m fine—Ung.” He grunts as I apply a light pressure to the center of his chest right over his diaphragm.

“You’re not fine. Your ribs are clearly broken, as is your nose and I don’t even know how many other parts of you,” I say, looking him over with concern. “Look, I don’t know if this is some sort of macho act or what, but if you need my blood you can have it. Let me just go get a knife—“

He grabs my arm to stop me from standing from the bed, his expression pained as he looks up at me. “I don’t need your blood.”

“Jonah—“

“Lillian, I swear. I don’t need it.”

He looks almost desperate as he waits for me to respond. Slowly, I nod my head and he releases me with a sigh as he lays back and closes his eyes once more.

It seems a little strange to me that he should be so adamant about not taking what would obviously relieve him from this intense pain. And that little, tiny part of me that’s actually self-conscious wonders if he won’t take it because it’s mine—like maybe I smell or something.

To my credit, I do actually resist the urge to lift my arm and check.

“Well, if you won’t take my blood, let me at least clean you up,” I say, sighing in defeat.

Standing from the bed, I head down the hall and into the kitchen to turn on the hot water. While it warms up, I move over toward the door and hit the deadbolt. Thinking he might also want some pain killers I rummage around in the bathroom to see if there’s anything there he can take, but my search only turns up aspirin and blood thinners are the last thing he needs right now.

Returning to the kitchen, I poke through the cupboards until I find a large mixing bowl and fill it up with the hot water from the tap, stopping in at the bathroom to grab a washcloth from under the sink on my way back to the bedroom.

Jonah opens his eyes when I sit down next to him on the edge of the bed, setting the hot water on the nightstand next to me.

“I’m going to need you to sit up,” I say, moving my hands to the backs of his arms to give him some leverage as he pulls himself up to lean against the headboard.

He eyes me warily. “Did you just feel up my triceps?”

“No, of course not,” I lie. “Hold still, this might hurt a little.”

I wring out the washcloth in the hot water and lift it carefully to the blood drying under his nose.

He winces as I start to wipe and I pull back, giving him a pained look.

“Should we do something about that? Like, do you need me to pop that back into place or something?”

“No, I already did.”

“You did? When!?”

“Back at the parking lot.” At my dumbstruck look he smiles halfheartedly. “It’s not the first time I’ve had my nose broken.”

“Right…” I clear my throat and move to continue wiping the blood off his face.

After a few minutes I’ve got a system down; wiping, rinsing the rag, wringing it out, then wiping his face again. The silence between us is comfortable, and it’s not long before I’ve cleaned him up enough to see that, other than some minor cuts, there are no other serious injuries besides his broken nose and black eye.

Jonah had closed his eyes while I worked, but he opens them now and our gazes meet. Without his curls hanging in his face, I can actually see his eyes and their color is astounding—like new growth leaves in the springtime: bright, vibrant, beautiful.

“Are you done?”

“Oh, yeah.” I brush back a loose strand of my hair and gesture to his profile. “With everything up here. But I still need to get your neck and your chest because I’m assuming your shirt didn’t get everything…”

He eyes me as I busy myself with wringing out the rag. “Yeah… sure. Here, do you mind?”

I look up to see that he’s holding the edge of his shirt and realize he’s asking me to help him remove it. Given the state of his ribs, it makes sense—I’m sure lifting his arms would be very painful—but still…

It’s been a while since I’ve undressed a man.

How exciting.

Removing my hands from the bowl, I pat them dry on my jeans before reaching forward to take the edge of his shirt into my fingers.

Be professional, Lillian, you’re not undressing a man, you’re undressing a patient.

As gently as I can, I pull the fabric over his bruised body and over his head, careful not to pull too hard as it slides past his swollen nose. When the fabric slips free of Jonah’s body, I toss it towards the corner that my own blood-stained clothes currently occupy before turning back to assess him, only to pause at what’s before me.

It seems my earlier observation, while pinned to the dressing room wall was spot on: the man is ripped.

Even bruised and battered as he is, there’s no missing the distinct ridges of each one of his abdominal muscles. His pecs, too, are well sculpted and flow seamlessly into the lean but strong muscles in his neck and arms. The busted lip, the black eye, the red welts from Ken’s punches along with the five o’clock shadow caressing the angle of his jaw, it all screams “bad boy.”

It’s a look he wears quite well.

I have to remind myself not to stare.

Patient, Lillian. Be patient—I mean professional.

“See something you like?” He’s smiling all smug now and I’m so caught off guard by how utterly dashing he is wearing that smile, even with a swollen nose, that I almost forget to respond.

“Uh—no—it’s just, I, uh, was expecting things to be worse. For you… That’s all.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’ll just, uh—it’ll just take me a moment. Here, I’m almost done.”

I retrieve the rag out of the clouded water and very professionally lift it to his battered ribs, wiping the remaining blood from his body and neck as quickly as I can without hurting him.

I can feel his eyes on me the whole time I’m working and it only serves to make me more uncomfortable as I run the rag up and down his abs like I’m trying to work the stains out of the cloth on a washboard.

“Thank you, for all of this. It’s nice to have someone take care of me.” He smiles when I look up at him.

I clear my throat and busy myself with wringing the washcloth out in the bowl.

“I’m just returning the favor. After everything you’ve done for me, both today and the other night, I owe you.” I give him a small smile. “Besides, it’s not every day that someone goes out of their way to save my life. Twice.” I shrug and laugh a little to myself, but it’s half-hearted.

Saying it out loud like that makes me miss Julian. If anyone were to put their life on the line for me two times in as many days, it would be my brother.

Warm fingers touch my arm and I turn to look back to Jonah.

“Really, thank you,” he says.

I nod as I pull away to slide my hands across my jeans, wiping bloody trails across my thighs, then pause. He really has done so much for me since he pulled me from the alley two nights ago.

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

“Hm?”

“Like, here I am, this strange girl picking fights with revenant in the street, obviously looking to get myself killed. Why save me? Why take me home? Why bother?”

I pick at the blood under my nails as I wait for him to answer, doing my best not to feel awkward. Out of the corner of my eye I see him suck on his cut lip as he thinks.

“When I look at you, I don’t see a girl who’s looking to get herself killed. I see a young woman who has something worth fighting for and, I don’t know, I guess I find that inspiring. I’ve never had anything like that. But then you show up, and suddenly, it’s like every day’s an adventure. It’s pretty fun, actually.” He tries to smile, then winces when it pulls at a cut on his lip.

I can’t help it. The blush creeps up my face, staining my cheeks pink as I dip my head lower to hide behind my hair. “That’s, ah, probably the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

There’s a moment where we’re both quiet, and I manage to fight down my blush by counting seconds in my head, trying to figure out at what point it’s acceptable for me to get up and rinse out the mixing bowl.

Then Jonah speaks.

“So, what is it then?”

I look at him, slightly confused. “What is what?”

“The thing you’re fighting for?”