Chapter 6: The Bandage

I drove his truck home because he was bleeding on the steering wheel.

He held a gas-station towel against his palm and said, "It's a scratch."

"It's a laceration."

"That's a fancy word for a scratch."

"It's a fancy word for four stitches or a lot of tape," I said. "Pick one."

He thought about it all the way to the end of the gravel drive.

"Tape."

Biscuit met us at the top of the porch steps and sniffed the towel with great interest.

I took Bruce to the kitchen and sat him on a chair under the lamp.

My school bag held what it always held. Gloves, saline, gauze and a box of closure strips.

I washed my hands at the sink and pulled the gloves on.

"Give me your hand."

He put it on the table, palm up.

The cut ran from the base of his thumb to the heel of his hand, clean and deep.

I flushed it. He didn't flinch.

"This is the part where people usually swear," I said.

"I'm saving it."

"For what?"

"I'll let you know."

The lamp was warm on the table and the house was quiet.

Biscuit had gone to sleep on the mat by the stove, snoring.

Nobody was watching us at all.

I noticed it as I laid the first strip across his palm.

I noticed his fingers, too, long and rough, curling slightly around mine when I pressed the edges together.

Keep reading free with an account. Start His Ex Wore My Ring, So I Married His Rival Instead from Chapter 1, then sign up free to read the rest of this chapter.