Tending the Beast

Getting "The Golem" into her bathroom was like maneuvering a falling tree.

Sophie guided him through the narrow hallway, kicking a pile of laundry out of the way. Her apartment felt impossibly small with him in it. He sucked the air out of the room, a black hole of pain and size.

"Sit," she commanded, pointing to the closed toilet lid.

Gavin sank down. In the harsh, bright light of the bathroom vanity, he looked worse. The cut above his eyebrow was deep, and his lip was busted. He sat with his elbows on his knees, head hanging, his massive hands dripping blood onto her bathmat.

Sophie didn't hesitate. She opened the cabinet under the sink and pulled out her first aid kit—the real one, the one she kept stocked with hospital-grade supplies.

"Look at me," she said.

Gavin lifted his head. His good eye, a piercing ice-blue, fixed on her face. It was the only part of him that looked like the boy she had grown up with, the boy who used to carry her books and let her cheat off his math homework.

"You look terrible," she said softly.

"You look..." He trailed off, blinking slowly. "You look like home."

Sophie felt a heat rise in her cheeks that had nothing to do with the temperature. She dampened a washcloth with warm water.

"Hold still. This is going to sting."

She stepped between his spread knees. It was an intimate, dangerous position, but she needed the leverage. She began to dab at the cut on his brow.

Gavin didn't flinch. He was used to pain. He collected it like currency.

"I saw the highlights," Sophie said, her voice tight as she worked. "Third period. Against New York. You dropped the gloves with Miller."

"He took a run at our rookie," Gavin rumbled. The vibration of his chest hummed against her hip. "Had to answer the bell."

"You didn't just answer it, Gav. You tried to ring it off the wall," Sophie scolded. She switched to an antiseptic wipe. "You’re an Enforcer, not a homicidal maniac. You let them turn you into a weapon."

"It's what they pay me for," he muttered, closing his eye. "I'm the Golem. I protect the village. That's the job."

"And who protects the Golem?" Sophie asked.

She cupped his jaw to turn his face to the light. The stubble was rough against her palm.

Gavin went still. His breathing hitched.

For years, Sophie had told herself she was just the sidekick. The childhood friend who cheered from the bleachers while he ascended to godhood. She taped his sticks in high school. She drove him to the airport when he got drafted. She watched him leave, and she stayed behind to fold the laundry.

But right now, with his blood on her hands and his heat radiating through her thin robe, she didn't feel like a sidekick. She felt like the only person in the world who had permission to touch him like this.

"You should have called me," she whispered, tracing the bruise on his cheekbone with her thumb. "I haven't seen you in six months, Gavin. Not since the draft party."

"I couldn't," he said. His voice was barely a whisper.

"Why?"

"Look at me, Sophie," he said, opening his eye again. The misery in it was bottomless. "Look at this. Blood on your floor. Knuckles busted. I'm a mess. I'm ugly business."

"You're my best friend," she said.

"I wanted to keep you clean," he admitted. "I wanted to keep you away from the monster."

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