Page 103 of Invisible String
“I’m not sure. The adrenaline in my body is still buzzing. I rushed to you.” He stares at me, and I control my breathing and the shakiness in my hands. My eyes burn, but I refuse to cry—not now. With the warm, soft towel, I move between his spread legs and gently dab the towel on his cheek. His arms wrap around my waist, holding me in place. The palm of his hand brushes my back in a soothing motion. The cut under his eye is bad. It’s a small laceration, blood still oozing out of it when I apply pressure. “I think you need stitches. I can call Lana. She works at the hospital. She does stitches.” Anger rises in me. Who did this to him?
“No, I’ll be fine. Do you have super glue?”
“I do.”
“Okay, just clean the area and add some antibacterial ointment and super glue. The Vaseline you have there will help stop the bleeding.” His palms are still moving. “Relax. I’m sorry I came here a mess. I just wanted to see if you were okay.”
Worry dips in my stomach. “Why would I not be okay?”
“Didn’t you say you’ll clean me up, then we’ll talk?” A tiny smile curves across his lips.
I nod, worry churning through me. “Here, hold pressure. Let me get the glue.” Thank God I have super glue, which I use for making props. “Okay.” I take the towel from him. I’m overwhelmed. He has more than one cut. The others are minor compared to this one. It’s beyond me how Lana does this every day. She’s a trooper and a superhero in my eyes. I pinch the cut closed after applying the ointment. “Am I hurting you?”
“Sunshine, you’re doing fine. The pain is the least of my worries. I’ve had much worse.”
I add the super glue, then Vaseline around it. God, I hope it doesn’t get infected. “Will you get it checked for me in the morning?”
His green-eyed gaze pierces into me. “Sure, if that eases your worries.”
An ache so deep in my soul, my heart twisting at the sight of him. I care for Max so much that it hurts to see him bloody and cut up, and whoever did this must have something to do with me. He’s asked if I’m okay. I can handle boxing matches with trainers, referees, and such, of course, but this is not one of those types of fights he got into. Unless he went to the Underground. Fuck. My gut is telling me something happened.
The bruising around his eye is causing it to swell nearly shut. To help him relax and rest his eyes, I gently run my fingers through his silky hair. It feels a bit sticky, but I don’t mind. His head falls back slightly, and his eyes close. He’s always loved me playing with his hair. His grip on my waist tightens, and he releases a sharp but relaxing breath. With my other hand, I add ointment after cleaning them, then the Vaseline, like Max suggested. I’ve seen them do this in boxing. That must do the trick. For him, it’s not a big deal.
“I managed to stop the bleeding.” I exhale, relieved that it finally ceased. Is this what a boxer’s life is like? My heart would be on the verge of a heart attack every single time I’d see him hurt.
“Thank you,tesoro mío.” He groans as I keep running my fingers through his hair. I’m tempted to place a kiss on his chin.
“I’m going to make you an ice pack, and you need to take off that bloody shirt. I need to inspect if you have any other wounds or broken bones.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He stands.
From the front counter, I scoop ice, pour it into a small bag, and twist it to a knot. When I go back to the prepping area, Max is cleaning up.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll clean up here.” I hand him the ice pack. “Put that on your eye.” No cuts on his chest. Just blood that seeped from the shirt. Grabbing a wet towel, I wash off the blood. Beautiful tattoos adorn his sculpted chest. Above the left breast, he has a bible verse.Psalms 91:7. A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right hand; but it shall not come nigh thee.
Max watches me with his one eye. “When I was a small boy, my mom would read stories or the Bible. This verse always stood out.” I run my fingers over a skull with a halo of flowers. “That one represents my mother’s life.” Where his heart beats is my name. The name he’s called me—sunshine. I swallow the lump of emotions. Beneath the navel is the most exquisite sun I’ve ever witnessed. Its golden rays flicker like flames, spreading out in all directions. The rays at the top and bottom extend farther than the rest, resembling a lasso woven with gold thread. My breath hitches, and I have to lean in to look closer. My face is the sun. “Your name on my beating heart. You might find it hard to believe, but you’ve always been the sunshine in my shadow. You are the guiding light in my tunnel of darkness, keeping me striving to find you.” He tosses the bag of ice in the sink. “How could I not have your beautiful face on my flesh?” He grins devilishly, proud of himself.
“The ones on my back are just a bunch of random ones to cover the marks. I didn’t want those scars to define me.”
My mouth is still parted, eyes wide. I’m in awe, but damn confused.
He continues. “The one on my arm. A lion. And flames to cover the sleeve.” He shrugs. “I thought it was cool, and I likewhat it represents. The other arm has a forest. All my tattoos represent something.”
Hands down to his tattoo artist. They are all stunning; even my face is like a real portrait. It’s a younger me from four years ago. The photo he has on his computer.
I toss the bloody towel on the chair. “I’ve never seen such beautiful art. But me?” I’m still finding it hard to believe.
“Yes, you. Always you.” He groans when he takes a step, massaging his side.
Oh shit.
“Do you have broken ribs?” My hand goes to his hips. It’s red, and it will bruise. “You should sit,” I suggest.
“Nothing broken, luckily.” He sees his reflection on the metal prep table; he shrinks back. “Fuck, Carlos is going to kill me.” Carlos wasn’t with him? He must not have been in the Underground.
“Tell me what happened.”
He lifts me like he’s not injured and sets me on the table. Max settles between my legs. “Let’s take off your apron. It has blood on it.” Gently, his hands go around my neck, unhooking the apron, then unties it from my waist. His face is close to mine. The urge to kiss down his neck is ludicrous to heal every scar and cut with kisses. “Your sweater has blood on it too. Sorry, I’ll take you to buy clothes. Hands Up.”
