“We’ll clean it,” he says.
“I can?—”
“We’ll. Clean. It.”
Bossy.
Hot.
Annoying.
“Fine,” I grumble. “But I don’t need?—”
“Saving. Yeah. I heard you the first thirty times.”
“Then stop treating me like I’m gonna fall over.”
“You are gonna fall over.”
“I am not?—”
“You are, Ember.” His voice gentles, unexpected. “You just lost your whole world.”
My throat fists. Damn him.
“Don’t say it like that,” I whisper. “I can’t hear it like that yet.”
He pauses. Nods once. Then: “You have insurance?”
I scrub my cheek. “Yeah. I think. I pay something every month.”
“Youthink?”
“It’s probably fine.”
“It’s never fine.”
I tip my head back to look at him. “Do you live to kill hope?”
He stares down at me, eyes steady, rain starting to mix with the steam. “I live to keep people alive.”
“Poetic,” I snark, because I can’t just let him be noble. “Is that on your business card?”
“Firecracker,” he warns, voice dropping.
I shiver.
Why is that hot?
Why is him calling me a nickname hot?
Damn it.
“Okay,” I breathe out. “Okay. What now?”
“You stay here,” he says, already turning toward the building again. “I’ll get you a blanket and a medic to clean that hand.”
I grab his sleeve. “Clay.”
