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I crouched down beside the tub. “Can I see?”
He leaned back, supporting the one arm with the other.
I winced. His wrist and forearm were discolored, already turning purplish and swollen. I’m not a doctor, but he was probably right that it was broken.
“Yeah, that looks nasty,” is what I said. “Can I help you stand?”
He nodded.
I reached in and shut off the water, then grabbed a towel off the bar and draped it over his back before leaning in to help him up, my hands under his armpits.
He breathed out as I helped him get out of the tub, and I could feel his muscles still shaking. Pain, low blood sugar, fear.
God fucking damn those chickenshit fuckers to hell. They were fucking lucky I hadn’t been there. Because I carry a gun and I know how to fucking use it. I’m not a proponent of stand your ground laws, but if you come at me or someone I care about with a fucking truck, I will end you, so help me God.
I let out a breath to siphon out the anger. Me being angry wasn’t going to help Taavi right now. A couple more breaths, and I had my temper under control enough to help Taavi dry off and get dressed.
This was not how I wanted to manhandle a naked Taavi. At all. But we got him dressed and downstairs into the car, then to the hospital.
Where we sat in the ER for three hours.
Well, Taavi sat for an hour before they took him back. I sat in the waiting room for two more, because I wasn’t family, so I just got to sit on my ass and wait.
And worry.
Not that I was particularly concerned that he was going to die from a broken arm, I just—
I was in love with Taavi Camal, and when you love someone, you worry about them.
I just hadn’t told him that.
Of course, I’d only admitted it to myself about an hour before our little jaunt to the ER, so… it wasn’t like it was a big secret I’d been harboring forever. Well, okay, maybe I had, but it doesn’t count if you’ve been keeping it from yourself.
When Taavi came back out, his right arm in a cast up to his elbow, he looked really tired, his skin more pale than usual, bruising starting to show around his cheek. His expression, when he looked up at me, was haunted and uncertain.
Nerves kicked in, and that asshole stupid part of me wanted to shove my hands in my pockets or make some snarky-ass comment. So I shut my fucking mouth and reached out a hand.
And Taavi slid under my arm, pressing himself against my side the way he’d pressed himself against my leg when he was in Xolo form. Gently, carefully, I put my arm around his shoulders, mindful of scrapes and bruises, and I felt him sigh a little as he leaned into me.
“What did they say?” I asked, softly, guiding him back to the car.
“Fractured my wrist and broke my radius,” he answered. “They had to reset it. The bones will probably heal without surgery, though.”
I gently squeezed his upper bicep. “Ouch.”
He nodded.
It was almost seven, and neither of us had eaten dinner, although God knows I’d packed enough food into Taavi’s kitchen.
Of course, whether or not he wanted me to come in and cook it was another question. I parked on the street a half-block from his building and looked at him.
“If you want to get some rest—”
“Please stay.” His voice was a rasp of pain or emotion or both.
“Okay.” I shut off the engine, both nervous and relieved, then helped him up the stairs and down the hall.
I got him settled on the futon, brought him water to take his pain pills, then got started cooking. I wasn’t going to finish dinner until at least eight, but Taavi wanted alfredo, so that’s what he was getting.
