Page 36 of Scythe & Sparrow
“Nah, you’re the prettiest one here, Nate,” Rose says, adding accelerant to the fire that’s already burning through my veins. I turn my incredulous glare to Rose, who gives me a saccharinesmile as she wipes her fingers clean then tosses the napkin into a nearby bin. She grips the handles of her crutches and points one in my patient’s direction. “What, you’re telling me you don’t know Nate either?Nate the Natural?He makes those wicked-cool chainsaw wood sculptures all over town. The bear is badass, Nate.”
“Thanks, Rose.” Nate only grins when I narrow my eyes at him and pierce his brow a little more roughly than necessary for the next stitch. I try not to glance over at Rose as I concentrate on the work of my hands, and Nate can see it, my struggle to keep my attention where it belongs. So he takes every opportunity to ask Rose questions about her broken leg or her tarot cards, or worst of all,How long before you’re back on the road with the circus?
“Last one,” I interject before Rose has a chance to answer. I tie the final knot and clip the thread free, then rise from my stool. “See you around.”
Nate gives me a slow smile that’s equal parts teasing and pitying. “Thanks, man,” he says, shaking my hand before he turns away. “Rose, stop by my shop next Sunday and I’ll have something for you.”
“No, you won’t,” I grumble, but no one can hear me over the drone of the crowd. I clean up my workstation, but really I hang on every word Rose says as she agrees to visit Nate’s shop and compliments the new scar on his brow before giving him a brief hug. Even after Nate’s moved out of my peripheral vision, I still don’t look over at Rose. Instead, I busy myself with resetting my table, but I feel her dark eyes on me the entire time.
I finally set down the last item, a fresh, curved needle, when Rose says, “You okay there, Doc?”
No.“Yeah. All good.”
“You sure?”
“You shouldn’t be here,” I blurt out. It feels like all the sound is sucked out of the room. Like I could pick Rose’s voice out of the chaos, but her silence is just as loud. When I finally look up, she has her arms crossed despite leaning on her crutches, and it looks as fierce as it does awkward.
“Why not?”
“It’s not safe.”
Rose casts her gaze around us in an arc that sweeps across the ceiling and the crowd before returning to me. “Yeah, structurally this place is probably not great. One dodgy bolt and we’ll all be crushed to death by rotten beams and broken dreams.”
I give Rose a flat glare and mischief dances across her face. “You know what I mean. It’s not safe foryou. Your leg. This crowd. The person who could show up, if you know what I mean.”
“You mean Matt? He’s busy making hay. Lucy’s younger sister’s best friend’s boyfriend told me at the car wash today.”
“What were you doing at the car wash? You don’t have a car.”
“I was bored. Thought I’d take a little wander and got to talking,” she says, unaware that two men have started a shoving match behind her, one pushing the other against the side of the empty ring before they’re separated by their respective friends. “Anyway, this place seems just fine to me.”
“You hurtle yourself though a metal cage on a death machine and you subsist on a diet of waffles and sugar. I can’t say I trust your self-preservation instincts.”
Rose lifts a shoulder and takes a lollipop from her pocket, holding my gaze as she slowly pulls the wrapper free and slides it past her lips.Those fucking lips.Strawberry red, glistening, sweet andplump. I can almost feel them, warm and yielding as they wrap around my—
“Next up is the Humphrey Hurricane,” Tom booms into his microphone. Cheers and boos interrupt the ache that’s already starting to build in my cock. I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts and refocus on my purpose for being here. “And please welcome a brand-new challenger to the ring: Ballistic Bill.”
The crowd descends into a frenzy of betting and shouting as the new guy ducks between the ropes and throws his hands in the air, turning a slow circle as he basks in the mayhem. He’s fuckingenormous. He shrugs off his black robe and he’s like a square block of muscle and tattoos. Shaved head, wrapped hands, scarred face. This guy knows what he’s doing. And I’ve seen the Hurricane fight. I’ve stitched him up. He’s capable and fast, light on his feet. But I know the same thing the rest of the crowd does. The Hurricane is about to have his ass handed to him.
“Rose, seriously. You need to get out of here,” I say over the cheers as Ballistic Bill roars like a feral beast. The crowd surges and a drunken onlooker bumps into Rose’s crutch as though proving my point. He sloshes a few drops of beer on her arm, and it takes everything in me to swallow down a burst of rage as he apologizes to her before moving away. “It’s not safe here. Fights break out on the sidelines all the time. You don’t have anywhere to put your foot up.”
“Chill, Doc.” Rose brushes off the drops of alcohol and then hobbles toward me. She taps my hip with her crutch and I rise from the stool, internally berating myself for not giving her my seat earlier, though it’s not like I want to encourage her to stay. As soon as I’m up, she plops herself down, then brings her injuredleg onto the empty stool. “See? All good. Promise I’ll move when you get your next patient. The Hurricane, by the looks of things. Yikes.”
“Rose—”
“You should get us something from the grease joint.” She nods toward the concession stand when I tilt my head and furrow my brow at what must be more of her circus lingo. “I wouldn’t mind a beer. I’ll hold down the fort and make sure nobody takes your doctory shit. If they do, I’llstab them in the fucking eye.”
Rose whips my scalpel from the table and stabs an invisible assailant, twisting the blade, a look of maniacal glee plastered on her face. I cover her hand with mine and pry the knife from her grasp. “Please do not go stabbing anyone,” I say as I take a sterile pad and disinfect the handle before setting it back in its place. “I’m only going to be the one to put them back together again if you do.”
Rose shrugs as though that’s not her problem.
“One beer.”
“Might as well bring two, save you another trip.”
“One.You’re recovering. I’m your doctor. Doctor’s orders.”
Some fleeting wisp of emotion passes across Rose’s face, the meaning of it too complex for me to discern from her furrowed brow before it smooths. “Fine. But I’ll take a bag of Skittles too, please.”
