Page 81 of Drop Three

“I think so too,” Navy agrees.

She gave him hours of her precious time and I doubt he even appreciates it how he should. Actually, he probably does, but still. I hate that he got hours of her uninterrupted attention in public.

The kind of time I could only dream to have with her.

I need to occupy my hands before I break something.

I see Navy’s eyes follow my movement to the sink as I begin to wash the dishes.

“Did you kiss him?” Gus asks like a squeaky teenage girl. I freeze at his question, silently dreading her answer.

“He kissed me goodnight,” Navy admits in a whisper, as vomit begins to force its way up my throat.

Crash.

I’m startled by a loud shatter, realizing I fumbled the wine glass in my hands, causing it to break in the sink. Shit.

“Jesus, Bodhi. You good, man?” Mack asks.

“I’m fine,” I spit out as I quickly clean up the shattered shards and bring them to the trash can.

“Here, let me help,” Navy rushes to my side, attempting to assist me.

“I’ve got it.” I stop mid-stride and turn my attention to her so she can see the seriousness in my stare.

“I’m sure you do, but I want to help,” Navy argues in an edgy tone.

I send her a sharp look and chose to ignore her. If she wants to help, then fine. The shattered pieces fall into the trash and the sound of Navy’s sharp inhale sends goosebumps across my skin. “Bodhi, you’re bleeding. Come here. Let me clean you up.”

Shit, I am bleeding. Somehow, I didn’t even feel it.

The admission of Navy kissing Briggs feels more painful than any insignificant cut ever could.

“I’m good,” I tell her, attempting to pull away.

I don’t know why I even try.

Navy laughs lightly. “Sure you are, Superman. You’re indestructible, we know this. But even Superman accepts help sometimes.”

Superman?I like the sound of that far too much.

“Fine. A Band-Aid will do.”

Navy guides me by my injured hand into the laundry room. I stand back as she locates the first aid kit stored in the cabinet above the washing machine. “I should have a butterfly bandage in here somewhere…” Navy says, searching for it frantically.

My uninjured hand reaches out to stop her movement. “Navy, it’s fine. A simple Band-Aid will do.” Her eyes pierce into me.

It’s as if she’s so worried about the simplest cut that she doesn’t realize her reaction sounds like panic.

I’m fine. She knows that. I know that.

Yet, she can’t handle not helping me.

“Right…okay. Here. This should work.”

Navy holds my turned over hand in the softness of her palm while she cleans it carefully with peroxide. I wince. Not from the sting of the cut, but from the sting of her touch.

My body responds to the smallest contact with her.

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