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“Yes, I’m fine.” She relaxed against me, then her arms tightened around me. “That’s a lot better than all the shouting I expected.”
I held her a few seconds longer, taking comfort in feeling her breathe in and out, feeling her heartbeat against me. I inhaled the scent of her hair, telling myself it was okay, she was fine. She was safe.
Then I let go, stepped back, and looked her up and down. Her leg was scraped. I didn’t see any other obvious injuries.
Now that I knew she was there and okay, my heartbeat started to slow. And I could finally shout.
“What thefuckwere you thinking?” I roared.
She flinched, then frowned. “Sorry. I know I screwed up.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose.
“Where were you?” I asked, trying to soften my voice.
She licked her lips. “I went for a jog. I was hardly gone ten minutes.”
I ran my fingers through my hair in frustration. “I called your cell multiple times, but you didn’t answer.” I pull her phone from my pocket. “I found it in your room. I thought you’d been abducted.”
“Sorry,” she said, her voice had grown small.
I looked down at her scraped leg.
“Fuck,” I cursed, running my hand down my face. I stepped forward and grabbed her hand. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”
She looked down at her leg and winced. “Yeah, it does look pretty bad.”
She sat on one of the stools next to my kitchen island, her back to the counter with me in front of her. I had one hand on the side of her thigh, holding it still, while I cleaned the wound.
“You’re lucky it’s just some scratches,” I said as I gently daubed the soapy washcloth against the scrape on her thigh.
“You could have broken your ankle. Hit your head. Or actually been chased by someone who hates your father.” I scowled at her. “The entire reason you’re not supposed to pull bullshit like this.”
“I know. I just wanted to get some air. I wasn’t thinking.”
“Clearly fucking not,” I growled.
I could tell Callie genuinely felt bad about the whole thing. I didn’t want to make her feel even worse. But I had to get it through her stubborn head that her safety had to come first.
I used a rinsed cotton cloth to clean the soap away from her scrape, then another one to pat it dry. She had a smaller scrape above her knee that I’d already taken care of. This larger one was high on her thigh, bringing my hands close to her body. I tried to focus and not think about her skin under my fingers.
“This’ll sting like hell,” I warned. Then I wiped the cotton ball soaked in alcohol over the wound.
She hissed and straightened on the stool. “I still think peroxide would have been better.”
“I only have alcohol. Suck it up,” I snapped
She squinted her eyes at me. “It would probably hurt less if I did it.”
“You’d be too gentle. That’s how you get infections,” I grumbled.
“So serious,” she muttered under her breath.
She’d wanted to do it herself, but I insisted. I had a package of large, sticky bandages big enough to cover the whole thing, so I spread the antibiotic ointment over the raw-looking skin and covered it with a bandage.
My fingers slid down her thigh as I used the thumbs of both hands to smooth down the edges.
Callie’s legs spread apart another half inch to give my hand room, my knuckles brushing the soft skin of her other inner thigh. If I slid my hand up just an inch, I’d be able to feel the heat of her through the thin shorts she wore.
