“Okay, then, let’s take off the shirt and get a look at the rest of the damage.”
“I just got comfortable,” Knight groused. “I’m sure a hot shower will sort me out. I’ve taken a lot of beatings before.”
“Not sure that’s something to brag about.”
Flynn chuckled behind me. “Knight was a street fighter.”
“No kidding?”
Knight grimaced as I gently raised his arm for a closer look at some gnarly road rash. “Didn’t usually include shredding my arm though.”
“You sure you didn’t get in a motorcycle accident?” I glanced between them. “Are you two trying to con me?”
“Funny,” Flynn said dryly.
“I wish,” Knight said. “That would be better, really. But I always ride with my jacket on to avoid this exact scenario.”
I made a sympathetic noise and dug through my kit to find antiseptic wipes and bandages. “Well, the good news is, there’s no gravel actually embedded in your skin. This is more like the skinned knees you got as a kid.”
“Great,” he said without much enthusiasm.
“This will hurt, though.”
He nodded. “Just do it.”
I wiped out the oozing scrapes as gently as I could. Knight went rigid, muscles hard as rock, so I knew it hurt, but he didn’t make a sound.
“It’s okay to swear at me,” I said as I reached for the antibiotic ointment.
“Not your fault,” he mumbled. “You’re helping me.”
I smoothed cream over the wounds, which was a good deal more soothing than disinfectant, then got out a roll of bandages and some tape.
I wound the cotton around Knight’s bicep—from shoulder to elbow—and Flynn leaned forward to tape it in place.
“Okay, now for the shirt.” I grabbed the hem of his tank and pulled it up.
“Always trying to undress me,” he joked weakly.
I glanced back at Flynn, catching his gaze on us. I couldn’t really worry about him figuring out we were more than roommates.
Notmoremore, just…roommates with benefits. Whatever. Not the time to think about it.
“Can you lift your arms?”
Knight raised them slowly, hissing through his teeth as hishands passed shoulder height. I tugged his shirt over his head and arms quickly, noting the red contusions over his ribs.
There was an almost perfect imprint of a boot on his side. I froze, staring at it, the assault he’d suffered suddenly real. This wasn’t just a fight. This was an attack.
“Those assholes,” I choked out.
“It’s okay,” Knight said.
I shook my head. “You could have broken ribs. You could have punctured a lung.” I leaned forward, pulse jumping, and palpated his side.
He did curse then, but I was too concerned with his safety to be careful with him. “Take a breath for me.”
He inhaled and exhaled. I could tell it hurt, but he could do it. That was the important thing.