Page 35 of Waves of Fury

He takes hold of the light, fingers brushing over mine. I like that his fingertips feel slightly rough for someone who probably never did a day of hard labor in his life. It goes with his whole “rugged survivor” vibe he has going on.

“At least it’s not a shitty kit,” I say as I turn the first aid box over in my hands. “It’s not waterproof but still shrink-wrapped in its original packaging. We’ll get some use out of it.”

I tear into the packaging and toss it away. Flipping open the plastic case, I take note of the three-hundred-seventy-piece kit. It’ll be quite useful for properly sanitizing and dressing Kellen’s wound.

“Can you unbutton your shirt?” I ask as I pilfer through the box for what I’m looking for.

He grunts in response, setting the flashlight down on the floor so it points upward. Once he’s unbuttoned it, he lifts his undershirt to reveal the mess underneath. The makeshift tie bandage is gone and the sling portion rests on his taut stomach. I try to focus on the wound and not the fact his abs seem to be carved from stone. For a man of his age, he has quite the body.

“I need to clean it out first. This is probably going to hurt,” I warn him as I open one of the hand sanitizer packets to sanitize my hands. Then I don a pair of blue sterile gloves included in the pack. “Point the flashlight where I can see.”

The light dances across the stairwell before landing on his angry cut. It gapes open and leaks blood. Though it’s red around the edges, it doesn’t appear to be infected yet. The sooner we address this, the better. I tear open an alcohol pad and gently swipe around the cut. He hisses at the burn of it.

“I know,” I mutter. “This sucks. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” he says, voice low and tight with pain. “Thank you for…everything.”

His appreciation for something so simple as cleaning up his wound has uncomfortable heat burning my cheeks. In my family, we just do what needs doing because that’s the way it is. No one is sitting around waiting to be complimented for their efforts. His appreciation isn’t needed.

I use another alcohol pad to dab inside the wound a bit. It’s the best I can do with what I’ve got. There are also antibiotic ointment packs. I open one of those and make sure to squeeze the contents into the gaping hole just below his ribs. With a cotton-tip applicator, I smear it all around. Once it’s applied, I use some butterfly closures to keep the wound together. I then cover it with a gauze dressing bandage.

“Lean forward,” I instruct. “I’m going to use this conforming gauze roll to wrap around your torso and keep it in place. It’s self-adhesive, so we should be good so long as it stays dry.”

Kellen sits up and slightly lifts his arms. Carefully, I place some of the gauze roll over his bandage and then roll it around his back. This puts our faces close and I can’t ignore the way my stomach tightens in response. Now’s not the time to get hot and bothered by this man.

Focus, Tyler.

I manage to finish wrapping him up without accidentally pressing my lips against his. Based on the heated look in his eyes, he couldn’t exactly ignore the fiery connection that sparkled between us just now.

Clearing my throat, I sit back and clean up the mess I made before stuffing the kit back into my bag. Once I settle into my spot beside him, I feel much better about his wound.

“Sorry I can’t offer any pain relief,” I say once the light is turned off, once again bathing us in darkness.

He leans his head against mine. “I’m good now.”

Grinning, I take hold of his hand again. “Yeah, me too.”

“You’re a grade-A asshole,” Hope hisses, snapping me awake. “It should have been you down there who died. Not them.”

Kyle’s lip curls up and he sneers at her. “Fuck off, Barbie.”

Gerry gives her a slight shake of his head. Her nostrils flare in anger, but she doesn’t say another word.

“What’d I miss?” I grunt out, side-eyeing Kellen.

He glowers at Kyle and mutters, “He was just saying how Brian getting cut on the vending machine was distracting. That he could have gotten more food if he wasn’t so focused on worrying about him, which, in the end, was a waste since he died.”

Kyle, ignoring everyone, strokes his fingers through Barb’s hair. This guy is a dick, but he doesn’t deserve to die for it. No one does. Yet, if he keeps antagonizing Hope, she might feed his ass to the sharks.

Hope busies herself distributing water bottles to everyone but Kyle. I guess she figures he can fetch his own water. She then passes out several packs of peanut butter crackers for breakfast. Elise clings to her side, no longer crying but nearly catatonic. We all eat our meager rations in silence.

I’m pretty sure I hear the dog yapping again in the distance, but a rumble of thunder silences it. Waiting around for help or until the bad weather passes is getting old. It’s boring and claustrophobic around here.

“Hashtag?” Kellen asks, running a finger over my forearm. “Who tattoos a hashtag on their arm?”

I snort out a small laugh. “Not a hashtag.”

Kellen smirks, lifting a brow in question. Rather than answering, I reach over and dig around in my bag until I find an ink pen.

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