by Kendall Duke
A short man with a barrel chest burst through the curtain just as she finished up my cheek. “Dr. Vendell?” She turned towards him. “Are you here to—”
“These idiots want to arrest him,” the short man said, pointing at me with a beefy finger. The two cops behind him were the shift change from the guys that brought us in, I guessed. They were standing behind him with their arms crossed, pissed off and embarrassed. I started to sit up but the beautiful nurse’s hand landed on my chest again, and I laid still, letting myself enjoy it. I wasn’t sure when I’d ever feel a woman’s touch again, let alone one from a woman this perfect. I watched the drama from my peripherals and focused on memorizing the pattern of her freckles, the singular combination of sienna and peach that made up her skin tone, the shape of her fingernails.
“What?” She stared at them. “Mr. Marchado saved my life. And probably the lives of several others.”
“He broke parole,” one of them said, sounding bored, but Dr. Vendell snorted.
“How? By doing your job?” He whirled on his heel like a dancer and jabbed that beefy finger into the older cop’s chest. “You don’t want me reporting this to McCabe. We play golf every Sunday. Every Sunday. And if you want to keep your damn badge you’re going to take that druggie madman down to lock-up, let him get the shakes, and we’ll take him to the locked ward once we know he’s not strong enough to keep trying to kill people.” Even I wouldn’t have lasted a round with Dr. Vendell. The man was a beast. He was practically spitting brimstone.
“But he’s not supposed to—”
“To what?” This from the nurse. I couldn’t help but watch her from the corner of my eye as she marched over and joined the doctor. “To stop speedfreaks from picking their poorly locked handcuffs and attacking innocent people? Or is that your job?”
“This is all a big misunderstanding,” the older cop said, his eyes ticking back and forth between them. He was in a rough spot; the whole ward saw what happened. I was screwed by the thing at the bus stop unless a poor old lady wanted to stick her neck out, but in this case the odds were in my favor. Everybody saw what happened, and there was a good chance it might even have taped by a security cam mounted on a wall somewhere. I’d probably still end up back in jail, but… Maybe I’d be out in a couple of months. “We’re just saying—”
“Get out,” Dr. Vendell snarled.
“He’s got to go with us downtown for an interview anyway,” the younger one wheedled, looking nervous. He must like his job, even if he was shit at it. “He’s got to—”
“He’ll be there tomorrow,” the nurse said, staring him down. “With representation.”
“I’m calling McCabe right now,” growled Vendell, but the older cop put his hands up.
“Look, if you guys want to be in charge of Mr. Nice Guy here, go for it. He’s got to come down to the station and clear the air—he’s had a very busy night.” His flinty eyes flickered towards mine, but I just stared back. He wasn’t wrong, but he wasn’t right, either. They didn’t need to interview me again tomorrow; Vendell had their number. They were embarrassed. Somebody fucked up with Rico and they wanted me to get my story straight with them, preferably in a locked cell with a nice threat to send me back to my alma mater.
“I’ll make sure he’s there tomorrow,” the nurse said, surprising both of us. Vendell nodded as if this made perfect sense and poked the cop in the chest again. If he’d been anyone else, they would’ve sent him to jail for assaulting an officer. The name of McCabe, whoever that is, must carry a lot of weight.
“Good night, gentlemen. Perhaps you should go back and check on the real criminal, over in module three.”
I hoped old Rico was getting stitched up by a nice nurse too. I hoped I hadn’t hurt him too much; I’d known him a long time, and plenty others, too, that went bad when they got drugs in them. Vendell spun on his heel again as the cops left and marched over to me. Before I could say anything he shook my hand, then peered down at the cuts all over my arms. “Stitches on that one,” he said, pointing. “Those will have to do with gauze. Infection protocols. Debriding if necessary. Good night, sir,” he said, brusque as he could be, and off he went. The nurse smiled at me.
“So that’s what we’ll do,” she said softly, and went back to work.
I laid back, trying to relax, while I thought about her soft hands on my skin, all of the colors she wore without trying, and where the hell I was going to sleep tonight. It should have hurt, considering she was pulling thread through my skin, but all I could think about was keeping my heart rate low, staying calm, trying to record every second that she touched me, every place her fingers rested, every stolen pleasure I would remember when I was sitting in that cell again, even if it made me feel guilty as hell.
~~~
Trinity
He still didn’t say a single word. Not one. It must have hurt like hell—I used the lidocaine, and tried to go quickly as long as the stitches stayed even—but he didn’t seem like he was paying attention to what I was doing, as if he were about to drift off to sleep. His honey eyes scanned the room, and then I felt them rather than saw them whenever his gaze floated back towards me. I was way too invested in this guy.
But he was painfully beautiful, and I was pretty sure I was alive because of him. He’d had a rough go of it, sure; two years in prison would be awful, and he’d only gotten out the day before yesterday. Heck of a welcome home party. Maybe he and I had the same kind of luck.
I didn’t try to start a conversation with him again until I was almost done. “I’m sure this is all going to be fine,” I told him. “Dr. Vendell was serious—he saw what happened, and he’s not a guy to hold his tongue. If he thinks they’re going to give you a raw deal, he’ll complain to Chief McCabe.” I tried to smile reassuringly, because he went still as soon as I started talking—an innate sort of stillness, a waiting, watchful stillness. He was ready to bolt, the rest of the time; I could feel the tension in his body even though I also sensed him trying to relax. But when I spoke he was waiting, waiting for a reason to stay. Maybe. “If you go down there in daylight, this will look very different.”
“I might,” he said, and I almost jumped. I wasn’t expecting him to talk at this point… Or to smile. Just a flash, just a quick little half-smile when he saw me startle, as if he knew my heart was racing. “Sorry. I don’t talk much.”
“No,” I said, “you don’t. Or move much, thankfully, so I think this will look pretty good. The lido is going to wear off any minute, so we’ll get you a prescription for—”
“No thanks,” he said softly, and turned to stare impassively at the wall.
“Pain killers are very helpful for things like this,” I said, pointing at his arm. “You’re going to need them.”
“I think you did such a good job that I’ll be just fine,” he said, his voice quiet and unexpectedly mischievous. “So if you’re done, Miss, then I’ll just…” He started to sit up, but I found myself putting my hand on his chest for the third time; I didn’t even think about it. Maybe I just wanted to keep touching him.
But I didn’t have a real reason to do it this time, and we both knew it. He and I locked eyes, and it took me a couple of seconds to clear my head enough to speak. “Mr. Marchado, I feel really nervous about sending you home without prescribed medicine. Especially if you have to debride—”
“I don’t know what that means,” he said, and our faces were only six inches apart, the way they had been several times before, but this time I wasn’t concentrating on his stitches. I could see everything about his perfect face—the tiny dip in the center of his lip, a dark freckle in his olive skin just below his eye, the gentle slope of his slightly amused eyebrows. Eyes like fire, hair like silk. Damn.
“It means if you want to prevent infection, you’re going to have to wash these out with a syringe. And that’s going to hurt. A lot.”
“I have a high pain tolerance,” he said, and neither one of us was blinking. Something was happening
between us, the air filling with tension.
My wallflower instincts wanted me to pull back, but for some reason… I couldn’t.
“I noticed,” I told him. “And that makes me twice as nervous, because people with a high pain tolerance don’t always realize when they’re getting an infection. It gets worse and worse while they wait.”
He bit his lip, and I swear my knees almost buckled. He was… Intoxicating. Literally. My anxiety won, and I dropped my hand and backed up while he watched me retreat from under his lashes. “If you’re worried about me, which is very kind, I don’t think you should. I’ll be fine.” He started to sit up straighter, his long legs sliding down towards the floor. “I’m more worried about you.”
“Me?” I looked at him and crossed my arms over my chest. “Why? I’m not the one with stitches all over me.”
“No,” he said softly, one amber eye locked on mine while the other hid under a lank of shimmering black hair. “Guess not.”
“So let’s get your discharge paperwork started,” I said, and he nodded. I didn’t want to think about what he’d meant; there was something a bit eerie about him, as if he might actually be able to read my mind and tell that today was a birthday disaster. The only exception to the downward trend was that I got to be near him while he wasn’t wearing a shirt. “Can I verify some information first?”
We went through a couple things—his full name, his insurance information, or lack thereof, his birthdate. When I got to address, he paused and looked up at the ceiling. “Mr. Marchado?”
“I guess you can use…762 English Street,” he said, his gaze suddenly nowhere near mine for the first time in at least an hour. “Look, isn’t someone on the desk supposed to do this? I mean—”
“That’s the shelter,” I said, and crossed my arms. “I know you just got out of prison. But the shelter is closed tonight. You won’t be able to get in.”
“Then I won’t be able to get in,” he said, shrugging. This time he stopped staring at the ceiling and locked eyes with me again. There was no lovely half-smile on his face this time though. “Them’s the breaks.”
“You know… If you don’t go to the station tomorrow the cops are going to be looking for you. You’ll have made a fool of them twice.” He watched me, those uncanny eyes tracking my every breath. He was feral, a wild creature… But he wasn’t a prey animal like a deer, standing watch in the woods, oh no… He was a wolf. “And they’ll come back here and bother Dr. Vendell and I, because we vouched for you.” That made him bite his lip again, and his amber gaze shifted downward. “Last but not least, if you sleep in the open on a rainy night, those cuts are going to get infected.” He met my eyes again. “And ruin all my hard work.” That made him smile.
“Then I won’t sleep tonight,” he said softly, and then cocked his head, just the slightest bit, to one side. A shiver ran down my spine. “Promise.”
Heat bloomed in my body; there was no mistaking what that smile meant now. “I’m serious, Mr. Marchado. You really need to sleep somewhere safe tonight, somewhere dry and clean. And tomorrow I really… I think it would be a good idea to go to the station.” A guy that looked like him had to have someone waiting for him, a woman that was probably chewing her nails down to the quick right now, watching the door for his ridiculously perfect face. I could almost see her; she looked a lot like me.
“You’re too nice,” he said in that quiet voice, his eyes still on mine. I felt like he’d been casually reading my mind again.
“I’m a nurse.” I could hear the annoyance in my voice, but the sharpness just made him smile. Then it faded away.
“I’ll go to the police station tomorrow. I promise. And I’ll do my best with my arm. But I’m not coming home with you tonight.”
“What?” I stared at him with incredulity, but for the first time since I’d seen him, the laughter was gone from his face. “No one said anything—”
“You were getting around to it. I’m not even sure if you knew what you were doing; you’re just too nice. Too good of a person.” His eyes flickered to the ground and his long body perched on the edge of the geri seat, his feet touching down. A wolf about to disappear back into the wilderness.
“Look,” I said, “ignoring the presumptuousness of everything you just said, why would you turn down a night at my place?” Phrasing, Trin, I snapped at myself inwardly. “Or any other clean, dry place?” It was too late, he’d definitely caught the unintended thought beneath my words and fire lit up those eyes from inside as they flickered in front of me.
“I like clean, dry places,” he drawled, giving me a slightly sardonic look. “Like any other normal human. But I don’t like owing people.”
“Owing people?” I stared at him. “You literally saved my life. Two hours ago. I think it’s safe to say you’re not in my debt.” I suddenly narrowed my eyes at him and propped my hands on my hips. “Is this some kind of reverse psychology trick? To make me offer you a place to stay?”
He laughed out loud; it was so sudden, so different from his typical demeanor, that I jumped again. When he saw that, he settled down and his face showed almost no signs of amusement at all, beyond the small half-smile that seemed like only one of two expressions he was comfortable showing the world. “And smart too,” he murmured. “Now you’re thinking. That’s better. I could be—maybe Rico and I set the whole thing up.”
“Nope,” I said, shaking my head at him. “That guy is a serious drug addict. He needs a lot of help. You… You just need a place to sleep for the night that isn’t filthy and wet.”
“I don’t know,” he said, and that flash of fire gleamed in his eyes one more time. “Filthy and wet can be a lot of fun.” I felt my cheeks heat up as I blew out a long breath. He shrugged and lowered his eyes, watching me from beneath wickedly long lashes. “Not that I’m offering sex in exchange for a place to stay.” His voice was amused, but the half-smile was gone again in a second.
“It’s one night,” I snapped, “and I’m not that kind of girl.”
He suddenly looked serious. “I can tell,” he said in his soft voice, almost as if he were purring. “I’m that kind of guy, though. And other kinds as well. I told you—you’re too nice.”
“And I told you,” I practically snarled, “I’m a nurse.” I’d never been so rattled by a patient before—first he saves my life, then he insults me, then he makes me… “Listen… Why don’t you bed down here? I’ll take you to the station in the morning when my shift ends, but you can get some sleep. It’s the least we can do—everyone in the ER owes you a lot. No one will mess with you, promise.”
He watched me for a long time with those exquisite, feral eyes. Finally, he slid a little further back on the recliner. I walked over and adjusted the supports so it laid flat, and found a blanket on the shelves. When I left, I looked back one more time as I flicked off the light and he was still watching me, those amber eyes glistening in the dark. A predator’s eyes.
But when I shivered behind the curtain, closing him off in his little enclave, it wasn’t because I was afraid.
~~~
Eric
I slept.
I hadn’t slept like that in… Probably years, probably the night before everything went wrong. That was the last time I could remember sleeping for more than an hour at a time, not startling awake at every tiny sound, constantly on the alert for some kind of attack or betrayal. It might’ve been that my body just couldn’t fight the exhaustion any more; I’d been a little busy. But I felt like maybe… It was because of the nurse.
I needed to shrug off the feel of her touch on my skin. The longing it woke in me woke something else, too, something buried and ready to claw its way out.
She’d felt good.
I needed to forget it.
I’d pegged her wrong, anyway. I didn’t give her enough credit, I guess; maybe I was just blinded by her beauty, the force of it so overwhelming that I didn’t fully comprehend the person underneath. I definitely underestimated her c
haracter, though, and I knew it as soon as she’d popped that round hip to one side and gave me a sassy little pucker. It hurt my chest, the look on that face. It’d been a long time since a woman interested me enough to flirt, a long time since one flirted back.
Before… I’d been attractive enough to girls, I guess. I was a little quiet for our neighborhood, but between Marco and I we drew enough attention to keep us busy. I wasn’t a bad looking guy, little rough around the edges, definitely not interested in any kind of commitment, and that kept any decent girls at bay. Which was fine with me, because I wasn’t trying to pass the time with any decent girls.
