Derek made a soft sound of acknowledgment at the answer, and the assessment. The boy would heal. But he was probably in pain, and uncomfortable. Even if Scott had taken his pain that morning, it would probably be back now.
He turned his palm over on the desk, face up, though he shifted his gaze to the notebook, processing what appeared to be a very well thought out business plan for a working garden, and made a mental note to order a better-fitting pair of gloves in addition to the supplies requested.
"Give me your hand."
It was an order, a command, but he hoped that his deliberate inattention would put the blond at ease. If Scott had drained his pain before, he'd know what to expect.