His brow furrowed and he looked at her, his eyes not quite focusing. "Ashling?" He was checking to see if he'd heard her right. Everything sounded a little strange. And then she took her shirt off.
Why was she taking clothes...oh. That made sense. As her hand came up to his and pressed the shirt against the wound, he nodded. Pressure. That made sense. Pressure. There was a doctor here? He held the shirt to his shoulder, feeling sweat roll down his brow and sting his eyes.
Rodrigo. Had Rodrigo made it? He prayed that he had. His shoulder hurt. He wanted tequila to take the pain away. Maybe some weed.