Page 63
“Come on…” I lead him inside and close the door.
He follows me through the hallway, like a depressed shadow with his head hung low.
Entering the living room, he takes his place on the couch. Resting his elbows on his knees, he lets out a long sigh. I take in his battered appearance and my heart sinks at the role I played in pushing him earlier. Small flecks of grass cling to the tops of his feet, damp with dew. Apparently, I didn’t imagine that part.
“Where are your shoes?”
He looks at me in bewilderment.
“What?”
“Your shoes? Where are they? It’s bothering me. I don’t know why, but I have to know.”
He lifts an eyebrow and points to the hallway.
“I took them off by the front door. I didn’t see a shoe spot, so I put them on a piece of paper.” He rubs his knuckles, which only makes them bleed more.
“Makes so much more sense now.” Rubbing my eyes, I turn to head upstairs to get the first aid kit.
“Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m here?”
“I know why you’re here.”
I don’t break my stride as I head upstairs. I never thought I would be going through my medical kit to help clean up and bandage the perfectly wonderful man who was once my stalker, but here we are. He is perfect. Obnoxiously so. Opting for the wound wash rather than the witch hazel so that it doesn’t sting him, I head downstairs. I wish I could say I was surprised at how Carl acted, but sadly, I’m not. I didn’t expect that reaction from Ethan though. The thought of him fighting side by side brings a smile to my face. He even let me have the first blow.
When I return with the medical supplies, Gerald is curled up on Ethan’s chest, getting two-finger head scratches.
“Hmmm, well, it looks like Gerald’s annual bath is due early.”
Ethan’s hand stills and he removes his fingers from Gerald’s furry head.
“Sorry, little guy. Apparently, your mom doesn’t want you to have a massage.” Humor dances in his eyes before he narrows them at me.
Gerald lets out a huff of annoyance at my interruption and nudges Ethan’s bloody fingers. The bloody streaks smeared across his head are more annoying than words can describe.
“Yes, well…Wait until you see what a bitch it is to give him a bath,” I say, pointing a finger at Ethan and shaking my head.
“It can’t be that bad. Look at him…a wet washcloth weighs more than him.”
My mouth twitches.
“You know why he’s so soft?”
“He’s special.”
“His fur is so dense that at least sixty fine hairs grow from each follicle. It can take days for him to dry.”
His eyebrows lift, and he looks at Gerald with an almost surprised expression.
“Why, you dignified little boy.” He wiggles two of his fingers onto Gerald’s stomach, causing him to roll over in an outburst of chirps.
Rolling my eyes, I place everything on the coffee table.
“Give me your hand.”
He lifts his hand out to me. After a few dabs with the cloth, some of the dried blood remains, making it difficult to clean the wounds thoroughly. I stand to go to the kitchen, and he catches my wrist. His touch is delicate, but the action has my chest fluttering.
“Where are you going?” The look in his eyes almost pleads with me to stay.
