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“Of course you will. Just take a minute, then we’ll get you cleaned up.” Truth be told, Noah wasn’t in any rush for her to move. Because that bullshit had rattled him. Five years in the military had taught him that it was always worse to see a buddy hurt or even in harm’s way than to find yourself there. And the same had been true just then. This could’ve been so much worse…
No. He wasn’t even letting himself imagine.
After a long moment, she lifted her head and looked up at him with wet eyelashes that just about broke his fucking heart. “If you hadn’t pulled me out of the way, I would’ve really been hurt.”
Noah thumbed away the wetness below her eyes. “I didn’t react fast enough,” he said, gently cupping her hand where it rested on his chest. Hell, if the car had come at them from the left side, he might not have reacted at all. A thought that did absolutely nothing to help the anger and frustration roaring through him.
“Stop that. You did too.” Her expression was earnest and so damn vulnerable.
Heaving a breath, Noah eyed the bruises blooming on her knuckles. “We should take you to the ER.”
“What? No way. I don’t need all that. It’s just some bruises.” She blinked the tears away, visibly pulling herself together as he watched.
“Kristina—”
“Noah, really. I’d go if I thought I needed to. Would you go?” She arched a brow.
He thought about lying, but she knew the truth. “Okay, but I’m a stubborn asshole.”
Her laughter melted away some of the anger inside of him. “Can I quote you on that?” She nudged him.
He sighed, but he wasn’t feeling playful about her having gotten hurt. “Fine, but we’re at least getting you some ice,” Noah said as he slipped the beat-up fingers of his right hand into the uninjured fingers on her left. Just a few doors down the street, they ducked into a fast-food restaurant. At the counter, Noah pointed to Kristina’s hand and said, “My friend was just hit by a car. Would you be able to give us a bag of ice?”
Overhearing his question, an older man came up to the counter from the back of the restaurant. “I’m the manager here, and I’m happy to help. Do you need some bandages? I have a first-aid kit.”
Noah nodded. “We’d really appreciate that.” He squeezed Kristina’s hand, not caring at all about the ache doing so set off in his own.
The man led them to a tiny office with a desk, file cabinet, and two chairs. He pulled the red and white kit out of a drawer and opened it on the desk. “I’ll go get some ice.”
“Thank you,” Kristina said. She blew out a still-shaky breath and sank into a chair.
Noah sorted through the kit and pulled out an antiseptic wipe, some antibiotic ointment, and a few bandages that looked like they might be the right size. “This might sting a little,” he said, holding the wipe over her hand.
“It’s okay,” she said.
Nodding, he wiped at the bloody cut on her knuckle. A flash of the gunshot wound through Kendrick’s hand. Noah frowned and blinked the image away. When that cut was clean, he moved to a smaller one he hadn’t seen on the outside of her pinkie. A little trickle blood lined her whole finger. Stein’s severed leg, the result of a landmine.
Noah gritted his teeth. What the hell? Now the simple sight of a little blood was gonna fuck with his head? “You okay?” he bit out more harshly than he intended.
“Yeah,” she said. “Are you?”
“I’m pissed off.” He heaved a breath and worked to box up his bullshit.
“Me, too. I haven’t had my Ben & Jerry’s yet. It’s a travesty of justice to get between a woman and her chocolate.”
Noah smirked at her and applied the ointment, though talking seemed to have blocked out the surfacing of anymore memories. And damn if he didn’t get the feeling that she was trying to make him feel better.
The manager returned with the ice and settled the bag on the desk. “Can I get you anything else? Should I call an ambulance?”
“No. Thank you, sir,” Kristina said. “I think it’s just bruised, but I’ll keep an eye on it. I really appreciate your helping me, though.”
“Of course. With all the pedestrians, you’d think people would drive more carefully down here,” he said, shaking his head and watching Noah over his shoulder. The man was perfectly harmless and obviously a good person, but Noah’s instincts did not love the guy hovering on his six. At all.
“Do you have a business card?” Kristina asked as Noah wrapped bandages around her hand. “I’d like to send a letter of appreciation.”
The man pulled a card from his wallet. “I appreciate the thought, miss, but that really isn’t necessary.”
“Not everyone would’ve been this kind, Mr. Johnson,” she said, glancing at the card.
