Page 35 of Scythe & Sparrow
I can’t deny how much I want her. Every day, little by little, it gets worse. Her infectious smile. Her uninhibited laugh. Her wild, unpredictable nature, as though she’s not bound by the same rules as everyone else. She’s so fucking beautiful it sometimes hurts just to look at her. The way she sits at the table to stare into her tarot cards with a braid looped over her shoulder and her fringe skimming her brows. The way her eyes sparkle when she teases me. No matter how hard I try not to let it, my desire for her chews at my resolve.
But I feel like I’m losing my grip on reality. Like I’m not the man I thought I could force myself to be. And that makes me infinitely more dangerous than she is. Because while Rose knows what she is and what she wants and how dark she’s willing to be, I still have no idea what I’m truly capable of. Or what will happen if I let myself go.
I can’t risk her.I can’t.
I need some time to figure this all out. Time around something that gets me out of my own head and into the blood and guts of life.
When I make it to the side of the ring, my designated area, I set my bag down on the folding table and take out my white coat and stethoscope and put them on. I learned early on to do this first, or risk being punched in the face for taking up prime real estate next to the ropes. As soon as they’re on, I wipe down the table and take out the things I know I’ll need, placing them on a sterile disposable mat. Isopropyl alcohol. Cotton pads. A scalpel. Latex gloves. My suture kit.
“Dr. Kane,” Tom says in his best announcer voice, sidling up to my table as I nudge my two metal stools into place next to thetable. He gives me a flash of a chipped smile when I meet his eyes, his gaze traveling across the crowd before returning to me. This is his show. His lair. And he revels in every moment of the mayhem. “We’ve got quite a lineup tonight. I’m sure you’re going to be busy.”
“I’m always busy when I come here.”
“Maybe extra busy this time,” Tom says with a wink. “Fury and the Natural are up first. You ready?”
A spike of excitement snakes through my veins. I nod once. “Sure am, Tom.”
“Great.” He claps me on the shoulder. Then he turns to the ring, bringing a microphone to his lips. “Who in this shithole is ready for a fight?” he booms, his words chased by cheers and pounding feet and sloshing beer.
I’ve been here enough times over the last few years that I have this process memorized. Tom introduces the fighters. The packed audience yells their bets. They wave money in the air. Tom’s grown kids and a handful of employees collect wagers. And as Tom booms the limited rules through the microphone, I ready myself. I’m coiled, even though I’m not the one about to fight. The match starts and I shift my feet on the sticky floor like I’m a mirror of the battle on the mats. When the Natural throws a hook, my fist tenses. When Fury ducks to avoid a punch, my head bobs too.
The fight goes the full three rounds. I patch the Natural up with a few butterfly bandages after the second, just enough to keep the blood from dripping into his eye, but by the end of the match, he’s heading straight to me for stitches, the pain likely made a little duller by his narrow win in the ring. His buddy brings him two beers and he chugs the first one. I don’t even bother mentioningthat now is probably the worst time for alcohol given he needs at least six sutures. I just disinfect the wound and start my work, piercing his skin and drawing the thread through the tiny, bloody hole I create, tying each stitch with a precise knot.
I’m only three stitches in when a familiar voice grinds my progress to a sudden halt.
“Hey, Doc.”
My heart surges into my throat and lodges there as I whip my head around and come eye-to-eye with Rose. She sinks a bite into a hot dog overflowing with mustard and relish and ketchup. Her eyes glimmer in the dim light as they take in the shock that must be spread across my face.
“Rose, what the fuck are you doing here?”
She shrugs, taking her time to chew and swallow before she wipes her mouth and gives me a mischievous grin. “Thought I might check out what y’all do for fun around these parts. The Suture Sisters are cool and all, but I figured crochet club and the gym weren’t your only hobbies.” She glances around us and returns her gaze to mine with a shrug. “Guess I was right.”
“You’re supposed to be at Sandra’s,” I protest, a wave of worry hitting me so hard I feel nauseated.
“I was at Sandra’s, for a bit. But I got bored. One can only work on a sex swing for so long, I guess,” she replies with a shrug.
“How … How did you get here?”
“Larry.”
An irrational spike of anger hits my chest like a lightning strike. “Who the fuck is Larry?”
Her head tilts. “Chill, Doc. You’re touchier than a Risley juggler with athlete’s foot.”
“I’m …what?”
Rose rolls her eyes at my inability to decipher her obscure circus lingo. “You’reirritable.” I open my mouth to protest, but she’s already shifted gears when she says, “You don’t know Trucker Larry? He’s your neighbor six houses down across the street.” For a moment, I consider lying and claiming I know who the hell she means. But that won’t fly with Rose. She merely grins around another bite of her hot dog and pierces me with her sharp, dark eyes. “Have you been living in Hartford, Doc? Or have you just been hidin’ out in it?”
My gaze drops from hers as I turn her words over in my mind. I know she’s right, of course, but it feels different to hear it from someone on the outside. I’ve had my head down, doing my work, keeping to myself. If a person hasn’t come into the clinic, chances are I haven’t gotten to know them. And even if they’ve been to my practice, can I say I’ve really made many friends in town? This Blood Brothers fight club is the closest thing I’ve had to socialization until I wound up with the Suture Sisters, and even this is realistically more of a job than it is a night off with friends.
A job.
I finally realize I’m here to suture somebody’s face, and the gash across his brow is only half stitched up.
“Sorry,” I grumble as I turn back to my patient.
“No need to apologize, Dr. Kane,” the guy says as I slide my curved suture needle through his skin. “I’d rather look at her pretty face than mine too if I were in your position.”
