Eliza’s chest heaves a tired breath.
“Some idiot dropped the shucking knife into the sandwich platter,” I say, answering for her. “There wasn’t enough light over there for her to see it. Sliced her hand right open.”
Eliza’s eyes clash with mine, flaring in surprise. The corner of her mouth twitches, and I know covering for her was the right call.
“I think the wordidiotis too kind for whoever did that,” Amanda says matter-of-factly.
Martha’s kit clatters against the table, and she nods at Eliza’s hand. “Put it here on the table. Let me see what we’ve got.”
For the first time in—hell, I don’t know—ten minutes, my fingers peel away from her palm. The feel of her skin lingers on mine, like holding her for so long has imprinted it there.
Martha puts on her glasses and hunches over, inspecting the wound as I stand, hovering over them. “I think you can get away with glue. It’s fairly deep, but not terrible.” She straightens, all five-foot-two of her. “I can do it here, right now.”
“I don’t want to ruin your night,” Eliza defers.
“It takes ten seconds. It wouldn’t ruin my night. But it’d probably ruin your night, and the night of whoever drives you, if you go to the hospital.”
That’s the other part of Martha—the unapologetic straight-shooter. I’ve started to think she makes those cookies just to soften her hard edges.
Eliza nods slowly. “Do it here.” Her tone is threaded with nerves, and it doesn’t take a genius to know why. She’s the furthest thing from a wimp, but getting a medical-grade treatment outside of a medical facility, no matter how minor, is daunting.
“It wouldn’t ruin my night to drive you,” I find myself saying. “But if you’d prefer to do it here, it’ll hurt way less than you think. I’ve given Martha plenty of practice over the years.”
“Dawson even more so,” Martha grumbles. “That’s the most reckless boy I’ve ever met.”
“Dawson?” Eliza asks.
“My little brother,” I explain.
“Does he live around here, too?”
“God, no. He ran off as soon as he could—couldn’t stand Garnet Shores. He’s in Ohio now, playing professional soccer.” As long as he can keep his dick in his pants and his image clean.
Eliza hums thoughtfully. “Seems I’m not the only one who can’t stand to be in your presence.”
I bark a laugh. Leave it to her to let loose something like that. She’s more invested than anyone I know in having a polished, respectable reputation, but I’m not included in that equation.
I wouldn’t want to be.
“That’s because I set the bar too high for him.”
“Think you have your directions mixed up there, Grayson.” She turns to Amanda. “Are you sure he’s qualified to steer boats?”
Amanda bursts into a laugh that she quickly tries to rein in. “Sorry, Boss.” She raises a hand and turns away. “Not laughing.”
There’s a lightness in Eliza’s face when she faces me again. “I’m good. Let’s do it here.”
Amanda slowly backs toward the entrance. “Not that I don’t support you or anything, but I might pass out if I watch. I’ll have a drink waiting for you when you’re done.”
As Martha sets up her tools, I debate whether I should stay or take off like Amanda. Eliza’s gone mute, latching onto the tube of glue as Martha snaps gloves on her hands and palms a saline solution.
On her list of people to comfort her, I’m not at the top. I’m not even on the list. If thereisa list I’m on, it’s for people she’d keep out of the room or run over with a car.
But she hasn’t dismissed me, and I’m certain she would have if that’s what she wanted. She isn’t afraid to tell me to fuckoff.
She might, however, be too proud to ask me to stay.
Martha tears open a sterile syringe, and Eliza’s free hand slaps onto the edge of her seat, squeezing in anticipation.
