No.
His rage.
Everyone dealt with shit in different ways. I’d seen big, burly men weep at a broken bone from a minor car accident. I’d seen kids handle traumatic shit with barely a blink. Worrying about me had probably offered him something to focus on other than himself. Without that, the reality of the situation was likely sinking in. And considering he’d been shot at outside of his bar that he obviously cared about, his fury was understandable.
That didn’t mean I wanted it to erupt in an impulsive action he couldn’t take back. Like punching the wall and getting a broken hand for the effort. Or something worse that would land him in cuffs. Based on the way his fists were squeezed so tight, his knuckles were white, it wasn’t a reach to think he was close to that point.
The tension also flexed his exposed upper arms, and that was the part I focused on.
Not how muscular and impressively toned his arms were—though that was true.
Not how beautiful the blend of colorful and grayscale tattoos that covered his arms were—though that was also true.
And not even how appealing the veins that were prominent on his inked forearms were—though that might’ve been truest of all.
I focused on the tight fit of his dark gray tee. Specifically, where it squeezed the thickness of his biceps.
“I like your shirt,” I said.
His confused gaze darted from the flannel I still held to my head and then down to meet my eyes.
“No, that one.” I tipped my head toward him. “Does it come in men’s sizes or just kid’s?”
He startled, his head going back as a bark of laughter pushed out. “You really giving me shit about my wardrobe right now?”
“It’s a safety concern. I’m worried that you’ll get trapped when you try to take it off.”
His brow lifted. “You thinkin’ about me shirtless?”
Well, now I am.
“No,” I lied. “I’m just wondering if I should call in the fire department for the jaws of life now to save time.”
He shook his head. “It was my last clean tee, and I didn’t realize it’d shrunk till I put it on. By that time, it was too late to do anything, and I didn’t think anyone would be seeing it.”
“Hey, you don’t owe me an explanation. What you wear is between you and whatever you used to paint it on.”
The distraction worked for both of us, but only for a minute. His expression and mood both sobered as he watched me. “Getting shot at a common occurrence for you?”
“It happens less than you’d think.”
“Enough that you know what a bullet wound feels like,” he tossed back.
I didn’t respond since he had a point. Instead, I checked to make sure Matthews was doing his job. Shockingly, he was. He was doing it while looking like he was going to have a panic attack, but whatever. Yet another small victory.
Rhys turned to follow my line of sight before muttering, “You caught a lot of details in that clusterfuck.”
“I’m good at my job.” It wasn’t a brag. It was a fact.
But a lot of people bristled at any sign of confidence. They expected women—no matter what field they were in or how accomplished they were—to be humble.
“I see that,” Rhys said without a hint of disdain or surprise. Like my words, his were said matter-of-factly.
When the sirens reached us and organized chaos descended, I slipped seamlessly back into my role. “Wait here.”
Moving away, I started giving orders as I ran the scene. The ambulance showed shortly thereafter, and I flagged them down before returning to where a cluster of men now stood with Rhys. Ignoring the security guards, I spoke to him. “EMTs are going to look you over, and then someone will take your statement.”
“Don’t need to be looked over. I’m not the one bleeding.”
