Page 161 of The Wishing Game

"I'm here foryou, Luce," he punctuates each word. "I'll help you with anything you want. But we need to get you to a doctor. It's not safe to do this here."

I shake my head.

"I can't." I tell him about the precarious situation Noelle is in. "So you see, I don't have time for a doctor. I need to get the bullet out and sew the wound."

He's about to disagree with me, but I slowly lift my hand to his face, fitting my palm to his cheek. At the same time, we both inhale deeply, our eyes connecting. Something flickers in my chest, almost as if my entire being sparks alive at the merest contact with his flesh.

"Luce," he rasps out.

"Please," I plead.

He doesn't speak, seemingly at war with himself. Eventually, he gives me a tight nod. Without a word, he bends down to pick up the pair of tweezers and goes to the sink to wash it before disinfecting it.

"Come here." He motions me to him. I take a seat on a chair while he positions himself in front of me. Placing a hand on my back, he eyes the wound with concern as he takes a deep breath. "This will hurt."

"I know."

"I wish I could take your pain onto myself, Luce," he murmurs huskily.

"Do it," I urge him.

He pushes the tweezers into my wound, doing his best to avoid hurting me more than necessary as he digs for the bullet. I close my eyes as I suffer in silence, not making even one sound. Somehow, I know that would distress him, his pain perhaps more profound than mine. How I know this, I'm not sure. There's only this certainty deep within, borne perhaps out of my own foolish romantic notions but also out of the friendship we shared in the past—a bond so deep, I've been living as a shell of myself since he's been gone.

To my surprise, he finds it fairly fast, pulls it out, and drops it on the table.

At the same time, though, more blood gushes out of the wound, and he hurries to press gauze to it.

"Can you sew it, too?"

He nods. His lips are pressed into a thin line, his breathing growing labored—more so than mine, and I'm the one with a hole in my shoulder.

He disinfects some needle and thread, and with a precision I wouldn't have expected of him, he sews the wound in just a few strokes. His features are tense as he focuses on his task. When he's done, he presses more gauze, wiping the last bit from my wound and cleaning it up with some disinfectant before he adds a bandage on top of it.

"How are you feeling?"

"Good," I wheeze. "It didn't hurtthatbadly." I attempt a smile.

He grunts.

"You did really good, Nikki. Thank you."

He doesn't answer as he takes the shirt I previously discarded, offering to help me put it on. I accept his help, and I try to ignore the way my nipples tighten, my skin covered in goosebumps. He tries to ignore it, too—I can tell. It's almost as if he forces his gazenotto stray to that area, realizing that it's making me uncomfortable.

After I'm dressed, silence descends between us.

"It's the first time you've seen my marks," I note softly. I told him about them since they were the reason I was the most hated person at the hacienda—the one even the other slaves snickered at. These ugly marks branded me as cursed, and that made people both fear and abhor me.

"You're beautiful, Luce," he says, his voice trembling with sincerity. "You're the most beautiful thing I'veeverseen. Never doubt that."

I blink in surprise.

"You... mean that?"

He smiles.

"You're the only thing that's been keeping me alive until now. The thought of seeing you again carried me through my darkest moments."

"I—" I bite my lip as I study him. "I don't know what to say, Nikki."

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