“Gross!” Mitchell, who was the closest, jumped back.
Christian ran to the nearest tap and splashed water on his face over and over again. Then he ripped his shirt off and rinsed out the blood. He’d seen the same thing happen to Jayce and Eric multiple times, but they hadn’t so much as flinched. Just watching the watered-down blood trail off the shirt made him nauseous again.
“You okay?” Eric asked behind him.
“Yep,” he lied.
“Why don’t you head home and get cleaned up. We’re almost done here anyway.”
“No. I can help.” He wrung the shirt out, but there was no way he was putting it back on.
“You’re white as a ghost.” Eric looked him over.
He swallowed hard to keep himself from throwing up again. “I’m okay,” he lied.
“It takes a while to get used to. Why don’t you grab the truck and do chores for Maizie while we finish?”
That he could do without feeling like a useless schmuck. “Okay.”
“Go get the keys. . . and maybe a few crackers as well,” Eric told him.
Christian walked back to the house, a rumpled and wet pink shirt in his hand. He took deep breaths, letting the smell of rain calm his nerves. There was nothing better than the smell of rain on dirt.
He knocked on the front door and soft footsteps echoed through the hall.
Maizie threw open the door and let out a gasp. “Where is your shirt?”
He leaned against the door frame with a sheepish smile.
“Do you even own clothes?” Maizie stormed off.
Christian followed her.
“What are you doing?” She turned on him, coming to a halt.
“I need the keys to the truck. I’m doing your chores.”
Her eyes drifted lower to his bare stomach, and he flexed out of instinct. “Why do you smell like puke?”
“I, uh . . . ” Whatever leverage he’d had just went out the window.
She looked at the shirt still in his hand. “You really can’t stand the sight of blood, can you?” She took a step closer.
“Um.” He cleared his throat.
She lifted her hand and poked him in the chest, letting her finger linger there.
He wanted to say something to retaliate, but his breath came shallow, and he couldn’t think straight anymore.
“What’s wrong? You don’t have a good comeback now?” A sly smile danced on her face.
His chest all but caved in. What was happening to him?
“I. . .”
“What?” She leaned closer, pressing her hand flat against his chest.
Sweat broke out on his forehead.
