Page 14 of Just One Chance
David ushered her into his kitchen and pulled out a chair, motioning for her to sit. She dropped onto the seat, extending her leg out in front of her. “What happened?” David reached for the rag Avery still pressed into her skin, noticing the softness of her fingers when he brushed against them. He cleared his throat and willed himself to focus. She smelled like summertime and sweat and the gardenias that bloomed along the hedge between their homes. The cut was high on her thigh—so high that she had to hitch up the hem of her shorts for him to see the entire thing.
“I was pressure washing the metal roofing that covers my back porch, and I slipped.”
David looked up and met her gaze. “Off the roof?”
Avery lifted her shoulders and grimaced. “Not all the way. I caught myself on the edge, but something on the gutter . . .” She took a deep breath. “Is it bad?”
The cut was deep, about six inches long and definitely stitch-worthy, but the bleeding had already slowed; that was a good sign. “Not too bad,” David said. “When was the last time you had a tetanus shot?”
“What? I need a shot?” Avery sat up a little taller, almost kneeing David, who still crouched in front of her, in the face.
He leaned back, just in time to avoid the blow.
“Oops. Sorry. I need a shot?” she said again, her voice softer the second time around.
“If you haven’t had a tetanus shot in the last five years, it’d be a good idea,” David said.
“I’ve had one,” Avery said. “When I started work. I had to get a booster.”
David nodded. “Then there’s no reason why I can’t stitch you up here.”
“Really? In your kitchen?”
“Only if you’re comfortable with it. I can drive you to the hospital if you’d rather do that.”
Avery swallowed and her face paled, but she nodded. “Does it have to be stitches? Can’t you tape it closed or something? You can do that now, right? Use glue?”
David looked at the wound then shook his head. “It’s a little too deep and with its position on your leg, I worry there will be too much tension on the wound for anything but stitches.”
“So, you’re going to have to use a needle?”
David reached for her wrist and felt for her pulse, suddenly worried she might pass out. “Just take a few deep breathes, okay? You’re going to be fine.”
Avery leaned her head against the back of the chair and closed her eyes, nodding just slightly. “I don’t like needles,” she said, her voice almost too quiet to hear.
“I promise you won’t have to watch.” It was flimsy reassurance, but it was the best David could do.
She nodded her head without opening her eyes. “Okay.”
“I’m going to grab a suture kit, okay? I’ve got one in the back.” David walked down the dark hallway that led to the spare bedroom-turned-office at the back of his house. Well, eventual office. It was currently functioning as more of a makeshift overflow of everything he hadn’t unpacked yet. The disorganization killed him, but he needed more than a few hours away from the hospital to tackle it, and so far, those stretches of time were hard to come by.
At least he knew where the suture kit was. Grabbing one from a box just to the right of his desk, he hurried back to the kitchen.
Avery eyed him warily. “You just keep those on hand, huh? You have a lot of injured neighbors showing up on your doorstep?”
David chuckled. “More than you might think. But no, I don’t generally keep them on hand. Before my job started here, I had a few months to kill so I worked at this free clinic down in Bolivia. They were desperate for supplies, so I bought what I could and filled my suitcases.”
“Wow.”
David opened the kit, pulling out what he would need and setting everything up on the table. “I still have a closet full of things I couldn’t fit.”
“Lucky me, I guess?” Avery’s voice caught and she closed her eyes again. “I hate needles,” she said, her voice low. “Did I already tell you that? I really, really hate needles.”
David looked at her face, even paler than before, leaning against the back of his hard kitchen chair. “Here.” He reached out his hand and she opened her eyes. “Let’s move into the living room. That way you can be more comfortable.”
She bit her lip. “I don’t want to get blood on your couch. I’m sure I’ll be fine here.”
“You won’t get blood on the couch, and I don’t want to risk you passing out in my kitchen. I need you stable and still, unless you want a scar that looks like it belongs in a Harry Potter novel.” He motioned again. “Come on. I’ll help you.”
