Gentle, so gentle. “Where did I hurt you? Where’s it sore? Where did my blows land? God, Seth, tell me, so I can make it better.” “Luke—” Luke’s hand stilled on his cheek. “Here? Did I get you here? Are you in pain?” He traced his fingers over the bone. “It’s not broken, Seth, I swear, it’s not broken. Thank God.” His voice was laced with panic. “Where else? Here?” His hand was on his forehead now, the softest caress, almost as though Luke was afraid to touch him. “Christ, baby, there’s blood. I made you bleed. I hurt you.” Blood? How on earth? And then Seth knew. “Fuck, I’m sorry. So sorry.” Luke dabbed at Seth’s forehead. Was he trying to wipe the blood away? “What have I done to you?” “Luke—” “I’ll make it better. I swear.” “Luke!” “Hospital. We’ll get you to a hospital.” “Luke, damn it, listen to me.” Seth sat up, forcing Luke to jump out of his way. “You can move.” Luke’s tone was full of relief and wonder and self-loathing.
