His lips curl before he lifts his chin, shocked I’ve watched him close enough to know one of his quirks. He shouldn’t be surprised. It’s the quiet ones you need to watch the closest.
“They help me sleep.”
After placing down his bag at the end of the bed K and I are resting on, he pulls out a set of wired pods from his pocket, rolls them around his ancient iPod, then passes them my way.
Just as I’m about to snatch them up, he yanks them back. “Can I take a look at your hand first?”
“Dok…”I growl out, pissed he’s attempting to negotiate with me. I told him hours ago my hand is fine, and I’d appreciate it if he’d fucking listen to me.
“The wound looks deep. If we don’t flush it out with some saline and clean it, it could become infected.” When I fail to budge on my glare, he huffs. “Fine. Lose your entire fucking hand instead of a finger like Eight.” His facial expression turns mocking when he spots the shock on mine. “Let me guess, you all think Eight lost two fingers in turf wars?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer him with a hell-to-the-fucking-yes grunt. He just pushes out, “He would have been called nine if he had listened to me.”
Taking my silence as approval to be an A-grade moron, Dok fishes a stainless steel kidney dish from a cabinet in the bathroom before he pulls some medical equipment from his bag. Once he has my wound clean, he searches the open cut for tiny shards of glass. I’m surprised when he finds three micro pieces in the lower half of the slash mark. “Your palm is designed the way it is for a reason.” After dumping the glass into the kidney dish and giving my wound another thorough washing with saline, he peers at me through the ridiculous pair of glasses balancing on the end of his nose. They have lights on each side of the lenses. “Stitches or glue?”
“I—”
“Stitches or glue?” he repeats, knowing I was about to say it’s fine how it is.
The tightness of my jaw is heard in my reply, “What will get you out of here faster?”
“Glue—”
“Then glue it is.”
* * *
Halfway through the gluing of my hand, I’m tempted to cement Dok’s lips together. It isn’t because his question annoys me, I just have no clue how to answer it without sounding like a soft cock.
He asked why I want his iPod.
I wait until he has my palm glued up and he’s reaching for a bandage before I say, “Rain reminds me of K. I’m wondering if it could be the same for her.”
“Did something significant happen to her in the rain?” When I lift my chin, he asks, “A good thing?”
For the first time in my life, I’m unwilling to share my sexcapades with one of my brothers, so I once again nod my head. Usually, I’m all about sharing details of my hookups. There’s no eagerness this time around. That afternoon in the rain changed things for K and me. I’m just praying it was noteworthy enough to help her find her way out of the dark.
“Do you think triggering her memory is worth a shot?”
Dok finishes bandaging my hand before locking his eyes with mine. “It won’t hurt her. Just keep your expectations low.” He drifts his caring eyes to K lying still as a plank as she has the past fifteen hours before returning them to me. “She isn’t the only one who needs to tread cautiously right now.”
“I’m not a headcase, Dok.”
“I never said you were.” He stands from his seat, tucks it back under the vanity mirror at the side of the room before shifting on his feet to face me. “You just need to ensure you’re helping her because it’s whatshewants, and not what youthinkshe wants.”
“How can I know what she wants? She can’t communicate with me even when she’s alert.”
“Are you sure about that?” Dok asks, smirking. “Because from what I’m seeing, she’s stronger than I realized.”
I glare at him like he’s certifiably insane, my eyes only leaving his when I follow the direction of their gaze. To someone who hasn’t been watching over her for the past fifteen hours straight, they’d believe K is still unresponsive and shutdown. I know that isn’t the case. She moved her head. Not enough to have me believing she’s close to leaving the dark, but there’s no doubt she angled her head so she could see me in the reflection of the full-length mirror in the bathroom. I’ve been lying directly beside her for the majority of our trip, but my change in position to the end of the bed so Dok could patch up my hand put me out of her line of sight.
Acting ignorant to the panic beaming out of me, Dok shoves his iPod into my hand. “Be gentle with her, Trey.”
“I don’t know how,” I reply before I can stop myself.
He acts as if I never spoke. “Track 37 is my favorite summer afternoon rain track. It only goes for around four minutes, but you can play it on repeat.”
Not speaking another word, he leaves me alone with K. I’m not going to lie. I’m shitting my pants. Gentle isn’t in my vocabulary, but I sure as fuck want to be gentle for K.
Can I do that, though? Can a man who’s raised his hand to women shelter one who has been beaten beyond recognition?
