Page 41 of Loss and Damages
She tries to lift the gauze away from the stitches coated in blood, but it sticks, and gently, she tugs. I’ve been hurt worse than this, but I still drag in a breath.
She winces. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
“Can you wet a paper towel? I’ll clean it up a bit.”
Her kitchen is small, and the sink is on the other side of the coffeemaker. A roll of paper towels decorated with butterflies lays on its side next to it, and I dampen one under a stream of cool water.
She dabs at my skin.
“Did Leo do that kind of thing often?”
“He liked animals, spending time outside. After my grandma died, I lost my joy. Leo reminded me that she didn’t die. I mean, she did, but that didn’t mean she was gone. Her spirit’s there in the way the sun shines giving plants and flowers what they need to grow. She’s in the blue sky and the clouds that form silly shapes. It sounds dopey, I guess, but it made me not miss her so much.”
I look at her, and because she’s sitting on the counter, we’re almost eye-level. “It’s not dopey. It sounds...nice. Whenever I miss Leo, I’ll try to remember that.”
“It helps. God, Dominic. This looks terrible.”
She cleaned away a lot of the blood revealing the handful of stitches keeping my skin together. The bruises are bright purple and my arm is hot to the touch.
“It’s not so bad.”
“Are they going to catch the jerks who did this?”
“There were plenty of people filming. The police should be able to find something.”
“I hope so. You could have been killed.”
“I would imagine that was their plan.” This time she doesn’t smile. “But fortunately for me, whoever was shooting had terrible aim.”
“A silver lining?” she asks, echoing my sarcastic words from last night. “Remember your antibiotic.”
I tilt my head in acknowledgment and sip my coffee.
“That should be good for a while,” she says, securing the tape. “Do you have someone at home who can help you?”
“I’ll figure something out.”
“You can, I mean—” She fidgets with the plastic dispenser, her nails clicking against it. “If you need help, you can come here.”
“Jemma.”
I turn fully toward her and fit my hips between her legs. She’s more than pretty, less than beautiful. Her features fit her face and her hairstyle suits her, but she has an immature quality about her. Maybe not immature. Innocent. Idealistic. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-seven.” Her eyes harden in a way I’m starting to become familiar with. “Does that matter?”
She’s younger than Leo by five years and I’m older than he was by seven. “I’m twelve years older than you.”
“You’re saying I’m too young for you. I wasn’t serving myself up on a platter, you know. I offered to help you change your bandages. Forget it. I have to get ready to open the gallery.”
She twists, trying to find a way off the counter, but I’m blocking her escape. I grip her chin in my hand and force her to look at me. “You and Leo were never together.”
“No. How many times do I have to tell you that?”
I ignore her exasperated annoyance. “And you’re not pregnant.”
“Dominic, for God’s sake—”
