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John nodded his head. “Get out of my way.”
Max sat up. “Or help me get my clothes off.”
I nodded. “I can do that.”
I gingerly helped him out of his shirt and tossed it to the side. The bruising made my eyes water as my hands slid to the belt of his pants. After stripping him down to nothing but his socks and his boxers, I stood back, watching as John scooted up closer to his brother. He reached for the red bottle and popped the top. My eyes widened as he held it up to his lips. He took two long gulps before passing it to Max. And when it took five, I started reaching for the bottle.
Before he moved back and took two more.
“What is this?” I asked.
I finally got the bottle away from Max and passed it back to John.
“It’s whiskey,” Max said with a growl, “and it’s going to help dull the pain while John works.”
John nodded. “It’ll be a nice treat when I drug him up for the night, too.”
I scoffed. “With what? A tranquilizer?”
John picked up the first aid kit. “No. With my lifetime supply of pain medication, courtesy of my chronic pain.”
I paused. “Oh.”
John nodded. “‘Oh’ is right. Now watch and learn, or get back on the couch.”
I stood by the outer arm of the couch and watched as Max laid down against the cushions. With his feet resting against my thigh, I felt his toes curling into me every time John moved to work. First, the split lip. A small butterfly band-aid closed the wound, but not before he rubbed it down with alcohol. Something that made Max wince. And when his hands moved toward his nose, I quickly reached down for the red bottle.
“Hold on,” I said.
I walked around to Max’s face before I opened the bottle.
“Two more large gulps, okay? You can’t risk any more than that,” I said softly.
I lifted his head and counted the pulls. One, swallow. Two, swallow. And another small one, just in case. I settled his head back down and put the bottle off in the corner, hoping and praying Max didn’t buck too much during this. Setting his nose was going to be rough. Even John knew that. And as I looked up at him, I watched him nod.
“On the count of three,” John said.
Max took my hand and squeezed it. Hard.
“Ready,” he grunted.
“All right. On my count. One--SNAP!”
And the roar of pain Max let out watered my eyes.
“Sh-sh-sh-sh, it’s okay. I’m right here, handsome.”
I pressed my lips to his ear and whispered as many sweet nothings as I could. John started from Max’s nose and worked his way down his brother’s body, patching up what he could and poking at what he couldn't. He got ice packs for the bruised ribs. He checked Max for any signs of a concussion. John checked every joint from his toes to his shoulders, just to make sure nothing else was out of place. And when we sat Max upright, my hand slid down the nape of his neck.
Fiddling with something that felt swollen.
“John?” I asked.
Max groaned. “Damn it, that hurt. The hell did you just run over, gorgeous?”
I peered down at Max’s neck, confused by what I was seeing. There were circular indentations with designs that looked weirdly specific in nature. John got up and lumbered around to where he could see, trying to move Max as little as possible.
And when John’s eyes landed on the bruising, he smacked his lips.
