"Charlie." His voice was firm. "Take off your damn boots."
Terror crawled up my throat. My heels were scraped raw, and I knew my socks would be soaked with blood. But once I got my boots off, I'd never get them back on. And without boots, how would I walk tomorrow?
"Charlie. Boots off. Now." The command in his voice sent an unexpected shiver down my spine.
"Jeez, you're bossy." I waggled my head at him.
"And you're stubborn."
"Oh, I'm stubborn?"
"Stop procrastinating." He leaned forward, and the firelight caught the golden flecks in his green eyes. "Boots. Now."
"Okay, sheesh. You're just like my older sisters."
He cocked his head, scowling.
Groaning, I reached for my laces, clenching my jaw and bracing for the agony. The dried blood had glued the leather to my skin. When I tried to tug the boot away, white-hot pain shot up my leg.
I gasped, hissing through my teeth.
"Christ." Mitch shifted around to kneel at my feet. "Let me."
I should have protested and insisted on doing it myself. However, when his calloused fingers touched my ankle, surprisingly gentle, my throat tightened, and I couldn't look away from him.
A sharp breath escaped him as he turned my leg, examining the row of bruises and cuts up my shin that I had forgotten were there. "Just a few scrapes," he said. "Thankfully, nothing that needs stitches."
"Are you a doctor or something?"
"No. I’ve just seen my share of injuries."
I waited for him to elaborate, but he didn't. Instead, he placed his hand on my boot, and every muscle in my body clenched.
He loosened the laces further, his jaw tight with concentration as he gently worked the sides away from my ankle.
"Sorry," he muttered.
"Just do it." I bit down on my lip.
He pulled the boot free. Pain ripped up my leg, and I gasped. But it wasn't as bad as I'd feared.
Then I looked down at my sock. The white cotton was stained dark red at the heel and stuck to my skin.
"The sock has to come off, too.” His eyes met mine. "This is going to hurt."
I nodded, not trusting my voice, and braced my hands against the ground.
He worked carefully, peeling the sock away from my ankle first, rolling it down slowly. Then it reached my heel, and the sock was stuck.
"Ready?" he asked, his voice low.
I wasn't. But I nodded anyway.
He pulled.
I screamed as the sock tore away, taking strips of skin with it. The world went white with pain.
"I'm sorry." Mitch's voice sounded distant through the roaring in my ears. His hand pressed against my shoulder, steadying me as I doubled over.