Maisie
The tub was large, but Mercer's presence made it feel smaller, as he turned his back to me. The steam curled thick around his broad shoulders and I knelt behind him in the water, heart hammering so loudly I was sure he could hear it.
The bathroom was quiet. Only the soft drip of water from the faucet and the gentle lap against his skin broke the silence.
I dipped a clean cloth into the warm water like he told me to and gently wiped away the blood around the wound.
My fingers brushed his skin and his entire back tensed instantly, muscles rippling under my touch like a live wire.
I swallowed hard, throat dry. My gaze traced the map of faint scars covering his back and shoulders. They were so faint, you wouldn't even notice them upon close glance. Not unless you knew where to look. Old knife wounds. Jagged bite marks. Several small, silvery circles that resembled old bullet entries.
Mercer got shot… a lot.
The realization settled heavy in my chest.
