Deryl's POV
"You're hurt again," Kristen whispers, her voice thick with concern as she surveys the damage across my torso.
Her fingertips trace delicately over each wound, mapping the injuries with a tenderness that makes my body react despite the throbbing pain coursing through me. The gentle exploration of her hands sends heat spiraling through my chest, and I capture her wrists, pressing her palms flat against my heartbeat.
"Tooker can't handle some of these cuts. I need Henderson to take a look," I explain, anticipating she'll step back or urge me toward the hospital.
Instead, she remains frozen, her gaze locked on the gashes marking my skin.
"Kristen? Talk to me. What's running through your mind?"
Silence stretches between us until the sharp scent of unshed tears fills the air. I lift her chin, forcing her to meet my eyes. "Tell me what's wrong," I coax softly.
"I'm terrified," she admits, her voice fracturing as she fights to maintain control.
