I don't answer as I walk over and take the bottle out of his hands. Looking down at the label, my suspicions are confirmed: it's 325mg aspirin.

"You can't take this," I say as I look up at him. The blood at his hairline has dried and crusted along his scalp, and he smells awful.

"Watch me," he growls.

"I'm serious, Rafe. Aspirin is a blood thinner, and if you have a concussion, it could kill you."

"I'll take my chances."

My teeth grind together. Once upon a time, we were friends. Shit, once upon a time, we were more than friends. It's the only thing that makes walking into his apartment and giving him hell possible, but it still feels like I'm overstepping my boundaries. If he doesn't want my help, then I should just leave. At least I've given him medical advice, and if he dies, it's not on me.

"You didn't get these injuries on the job, did you?" I ask, still holding the bottle close enough to my body I know he won't try to take it back. "What kind of cop are you anyway?"

"Don't worry about it." He reaches for a glass off the counter and fills it with tap water, guzzling it down. When he finishes, he glares at me with his eyebrows creased together. "What the fuck are you doing here anyway? You stalking me or something?"

I roll my eyes. "I can guarantee my stalking skills would be put to much better use. Aren't cops supposed to be protecting people?"

"I do protect people."

"Do you?" I nod my head toward the swollen, broken skin of his right hand.

"I said don't worry about it."

With a shrug, I turn and walk toward the door.

"Hey, I need to take something for my head," he snaps at me.

"Well, you can't take this. It will kill you."

As I reach the door handle, I hear him let out a heavy sigh. "My head feels like it's being split in two, Shelby. Please."

My name coming out of his mouth sends chills down my spine. When was the last time I heard him say it? When was the last time I begged him to say it again just so I could press my mouth against his, loving the way his perfect lips looked as he formed the sounds.

Silently, I turn around and head toward the refrigerator. I snatch the towel off the counter and fill it with ice, spinning it to hold the cubes in a single line. He watches me from the other side of the kitchen. Then I hand him the towel. "Drape this over your neck. It will draw the blood away from your head and ease some pain. Rest, but try not to fall asleep for at least another hour. Drink lots of fluids and if you feel like you’re going to pass out again, call 9-1-1."

Then, without another word, I walk toward the door and leave his apartment.