Page 66 of Wild Card (Advantage Play 1)

“Shit, Ace. What the hell happened?”

A fresh wave of guilt hits me harder than a sledgehammer. I should’ve been there for her. I should’ve protected her.

“It’s just glass,” she murmurs. Her whole body tenses at my examination.

Glancing up at D, I don’t need to utter a word before he offers, “I’ll go get the first-aid kit.” We have doctors for this shit, but we both know that Ace needs me right now, not some stranger.

With a hesitant smile, Ace whispers, “Thanks, Diece.”

“Anytime.” He reappears seconds later with a decent sized plastic tote we use for quick fixes. Anything other than surgery can be handled in-house, and Ace is about to learn that firsthand.

“Thanks, D. Will you go check on Regina’s situation?” I need some privacy with Ace. I need to know she’s going to be okay. Physically and emotionally.

“Sure thing, King.” He leaves without a backward glance.

Turning to Ace, I can almost see her soul losing its luster as she tries to process her experience. There will be time for that later. Right now, she needs a distraction before I lose her to the darkness. She needs the suffocating weight to be lifted for a few minutes, and I need to help her carry it. I gently slide her off my lap and back onto the couch before moving to kneel in front of her. Opening the kit, I give her my best doctor impression with a side of cocky superhero.

“Usually, I let the doc take care of these things, but I’m feeling generous tonight.”

With a quirked brow, she returns, “Is that right?”

“Sure is.” I start rifling through the bandages, gauze, and antiseptic in search of some tweezers. When I find them, I set them aside then grab a few other things we’ll be needing. Needle. Thread. A sterile syringe and a vial of lidocaine to numb the skin, along with a few other items. Ace’s face is filled with fascination as she watches my every move, and I know I’ve officially distracted her. Epic meltdown averted. For now, anyway. There will be time to process things later.

“Have you done this before?” The awe is clear in her tone.

“Maybe a time or two.”

“Really?”

I laugh, dryly. “I learned how to give stitches by the time I was nine and could feel the difference between a sprain and a break long before that.”

“Really? I just…I can’t imagine that kind of life.”

“Says the girl who learned how to count cards when she was…twelve?”

Pursing her lips, she corrects me, “Ten. But that was mainly to pass the time. This? This is crazy, Kingston.” It seems our conversation is distracting her from the fact that she got the shit kicked out of her, and I’m happy to see the real Ace come back to the surface.

“Nah, just a part of life. Now, bring your hand over here. I want to see it better in the light.”

She does as I ask, placing her hand palm up in mine as I take a look at the damage. The wound is almost three inches long and looks angry as hell, surrounded by inflamed, red skin. The bravest of men would be feeling a slice like this. A swell of pride spreads throughout my chest for being able to claim Ace as mine.

“Damn, Ace. This is a good one.”

With her mouth tilted up on one side, an amused expression paints her face.

“A good one?”

“Yeah. Growing up, we’d always refer to our injuries on some fucked-up scale. That’s nothing, was a scratch or a bruise. Something that didn’t even deem the attention of bringing it up in the first place, and if you did, you’d get shit for days. But a good one means it’s likely going to scar and requires stitches or a cast. This,”—I gesture to her hand—“is a good one, Ace.” Leaning closer, I place a soft kiss against her busted lip and nose, being careful not to hurt her.

“So are these.”

She looks so vulnerable right now with my big hand cradling her bruised face, and her big doe eyes peeking up at me. I’d do anything to take away her pain. To steal the burden of her recovery and carry it by myself. But the only thing I can do is hold her and tell her it’s going to be okay. I just wish I knew if it was the truth or not.

“Thank you, King.” Her voice is nothing but a whisper, quiet enough that it could easily get lost in the intimate ambiance if I hadn’t been paying attention.

With a brush of my fingers against the silky skin on her forearm, I pull her closer.

“Anytime, Ace. Now let’s fix this hand.”

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