For a moment, she just stood in the doorway, because she could feel the anger rolling off of him. “I’m sorry that carrying my stupid desk made your shoulder worse.”
He slanted her a look, and it was clear that he was attempting to beat back his temper. “It didn’t, so don’t worry.”
“I’m kinda predisposed to think things are my fault, so it can’t be helped.”
He frowned, and this time all the frustration bled from his expression. “Why do you say that?”
Because my idiocy and stubbornness killed my brother.
That was what she thought, but what she said was, “I don’t know. Old habit.”
Billy shook his head. “Well, this isn’t your fault, Shayna. And I’d be willing to bet that whatever else you’re worrying about isn’t either.” He closed the toilet lid and sat heavily, and Shayna was glad that he looked away, because his words had unleashed a sting at the backs of her eyes. “I hate that I need help with this, not that you’re the one helping.”
There went her belly again. “Just pretend I’m Ryan,” she said in a quiet voice.
He smirked up at her. “Why would I do that?”
“Because you probably wouldn’t care if a buddy was patching you up, right?”
He shrugged with one big shoulder. “Anyone ever told you that you can be too damn perceptive?”
“I’m a photographer, after all. It’s literally my job to see things.”
“Mine, too,” he said, tossing another glance over his shoulder, this one appreciative.
Their gazes collided. Held. Made Shayna’s heart beat harder.
“So, do I need to do anything special or just clean, bandage, tape?”
“Put antibiotic cream on before you bandage. And be sure to pat rather than wipe. Because of the movement of the joint, this spot is the one area that has struggled to heal. Otherwise, that’s it.”
She washed her hands and ran warm water over a wash cloth, then did as he said. “Let me know if I hurt you.”
“You won’t,” he said. “I can’t feel much where it’s scarred. My nerves are mostly shot back there.”
No wonder he hadn’t realized it was bleeding. Shayna debated whether humor would help or hurt the situation, then went for it. “Well, in case you have one nerve left, I don’t want to get on it.”
One beat passed, then another. Billy chuckled, and the sound did funny things to her chest. “Appreciate that, smart ass.”
She put a playful sauciness in her voice as she said, “You noticing my ass, Billy Parrish?”
He didn’t answer, even though she could almost hear his mental debate as to how to respond, which made her laugh as she tended to him.
“This is pretty much the same thing I had to do when I got the tattoo on my shoulder,” she said, smoothing antibiotic cream over the open skin. She grimaced as she did so, not because she found it unpleasant, but because she worried about hurting him despite his reassurances.
“How many tattoos do you have?” he asked in a low voice.
The question reminded her that he’d seen one of them, and heat filtered into her cheeks as she positioned the bandage. “Four. The one on my hip, and three on my back and shoulders. Once you have one, it’s kinda addicting.”
“Is that right?”
“Mmhmm,” she murmured, concentrating on the tape. “I think the bottom piece of tape might need to wrap under your arm a little to hold it in place. Is that okay?”
“Whatever you say, Goldilocks.”
“That’ll be Dr. Goldilocks to you, ya git.” She smoothed the tape down. His muscles were every bit as hard as they looked. Gah.
He chuckled again. “What’s with the colorful name-calling?”