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He winced as he removed the apron. “This is deep. It might need stitches.”
Slamming her eyes closed again, Paige swayed.
“Hey, are you okay? Paige?”
His voice. Her name. They sounded so strange together.
“No hospital.” She slurred out the words.
“But—”
She flashed her lashes open just long enough to glare at him. “I don’t have insurance. My father can’t afford it.”
His bright sky blue eyes caught her off guard. She’d had no idea his eyes were so…blue. His mouth snapped shut as his blue, blue eyes studied her. “Okay. I’ll see what I can do.”
He cleaned the wound first, apologizing softly as he poured the antiseptic over the cut, filling her entire hand and half her arm with liquid heat. Hissing out a strangled exhale, Paige grabbed a nearby shelf and held on for dear life.
Logan cursed quietly under his breath. “I should’ve forced him to put that safety guard on. You wouldn’t have gotten cut if it had been on. What was I thinking?”
Shocked he wanted to take responsibility for her stupid mistake, Paige shook her head and began to say, “No. No, you’re not—” But a second later, she realized what she was doing. She scowled and quickly added, “Yes. Yes, you should have. You owe me a new finger.”
He glanced up and his mouth fell open. His blue eyes blinked twice before he murmured, “Uh, how…how about I just patch up the one you have?”
She wanted to giggle. For some reason, the whole encounter seemed hilarious. A murderer was actually taking care of her, and she was damn near flirting with him, demanding new fingers as she fought back the gray fringes of unconsciousness that kept nudging at her brain.
She tossed out her unharmed hand with a sloppy flair. “Whatever. Fine. Do your best.”
He nodded and went back to work.
It took everything she had to stay conscious. She concentrated on him, reminding herself why she hated him and what he’d taken from her. Meanwhile, he tended to her the same way he worked his job: with quick, precise efficiency. Keeping his touch tender, he—
Wait. Tender?
Paige furrowed her brow in confusion. Yeah, she must be totally out of it. She stared hard at that place where their hands stayed in constant contact to find he’d already cleaned her up and was wrapping the area with a wad of sterile, white gauze. His warm fingers grazed hers with every rotation.
“This doesn’t mean I forgive you.”
He paused before continuing with his work. “Don’t worry. No one else has either. I wouldn’t expect you to be the first.”
She wrinkled her eyebrows, wondering what he meant by no one else. Had he been to see her father recently, begging for forgiveness? She could only imagine how well Dad had received him.
Probably by throwing a beer bottle at his head. He was kind of famous for that these days.
“I didn’t know…about your mom,” he said into the silence, his voice low and clogged with emotion.
Paige swayed. She didn’t like to think about her mom. Ever.
He kept his attention lowered as he worked, using a pair of scissors to neatly sever the gauze wrapped around her from the roll it had come from, cut a piece of surgical tape, and fastened the wrap.
“You didn’t have a picture of her on your desk in your dorm room like you did Trace.”
Trace.
The entire reason why she hated Logan Xander.
Immediate rage engulfed her, once again reminding her she did not and never would like this guy. Paige snapped her hand away from him and surged to her feet. “Don’t you dare say his name!”
Startled blue eyes popped up to gawk at her.
