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“Then perhaps we should reschedule.” Standing at the exam room door, I slam it shut with myself on the other side. A growl escapes my throat. That man makes my Dominican blood boil like lava.
The door bursts open, and now Saint is slamming it. “I rescheduled her appointment because I didn’t figure your other Goddamn clients would want to see me like this. I’m sure it will scare them right the fuck off. “ He rips the glasses off, and I see what he was hiding. His brow is mangled, swollen, and there’s seepage coming from a badly stitched wound.
I shake my head, going to wash my hands and grab fresh gloves. “Christ.” I mumble under the sound of the sink before asking, “Do you feel feverish? Light-headed or nauseated?”
“I’m fine.” He sighs.
“I call bullshit. Sit down, let me look at this hack job.” I approach quickly with my sterile cleansing kit. I go to touch his face, and he flinches. “Easy, I need to touch it if I am going to fix it. Do you really want to have to tattoo your face just to hide another nasty scar?” In my exploration of his body, I realized that most of his tattoos were camouflage. Body armor to hide a road map of pain.
“It’s worked so far.” He sounds like a broken man, like all the fire in him has been snuffed out. Even the jabs he took out in the hall were somehow empty.
“It would be a shame to ruin such a handsome face.” I fill a needle with lidocaine. “This is gonna pinch a bit.” I hold his head steady as I inject the area. I’m going to have to clean it out, and since my first rule is to do no harm, I figure a little numbing will be helpful. “Okay, let’s give that a couple minutes to work while you tell me what’s going on.”
“What do you mean what’s going on?”
“Saint.” I half-whisper. “I want to help, but I can’t if I don’t understand. Not understanding scares me, and when I’m afraid, I lash out. What I did out in the hall was unprofessional. I’m sorry.”
“It’s club business, Doc. You don’t want to know.”
“I don’t care if you were in the middle of assassinating a US senator, you get hurt again, any of you, and refuse a hospital, then you come to me. You get me? I won’t see any of you end up septic and orphaning your family because you’re a bunch of toxically masculine idiots.” I clip at the stitches. “For fuck’s sake, did you actually use sewing thread?”
“I thought Monroe used that shit you knit with.” He looks down at me as I sop up the pus from his brow.
“What the hell did they give you for pain?” I look into his eyes. They are too dilated. He looks like a fucking demon.
“Nothing. I’ve not had anything. I swear.”
“Yeah, like a sailor, but that doesn’t erase the fact that you have all the signs of being on something. If you are on something, Saint, I can’t give you anything else. It could give you a heart attack.” I hold a clean dressing over his brow.
“For fuck’s sake, I was poisoned, Doc. I’ll be right as rain in a few fucking days.”
“Not without antibiotics. If you don’t let me hook you up, you could be dead.” I grab his hand, making him hold the dressing to go to my med cart. “Are you allergic to any medications?”
“No. Well, maybe ketamine mixed with something.”
“Alright, roll up your sleeve. I’m gonna give you something to help clear this shit right up. Sit back on the table. What kind of juice do you want? Cranberry, apple, or orange?”
Of course, he doesn’t listen to what I say. Instead, he pulls his damn shirt off. “I don’t care, Doc. Just give me something to put me out of my fucking misery. Then maybe that girl will get a better fucking parent. Not be stuck in my fucked up life.”
I sigh and shake my head as I get him hooked up and then prepare to stitch him properly. “Stop that. She adores you. Not every little girl gets a daddy worth a damn.” My voice is low. “When Tobey came out as Trans to our dad, I had to repair his orbital bone and wire his jaw shut..”
He looks away, and I grab his face. “Move again, and the stitches will be uneven. Your little girl deserves a daddy with a kind and handsome face.”
“Instead, she’s stuck with a fucked up fool whose mother is fucking his uncle or sperm donor. She deserves better.” He grabs the back of his head, pulls his hair, and closes his eyes tight.
I cut the stitch and pull his hands away. “Saint, where we come from doesn’t matter. It’s where we choose to end up and who we choose to end up there with that matters.” I pull off my gloves and run my hand down his cheek, chasing the tears. “I believe you are a good man, or that at least you try to be. That’s all anyone can ask. Be better than your genes, and show Ciara that she is the most important thing to you. If you can do that, then you’ll never let her down.” I get him to settle back against the table and smooth back his hair. “I’ll be back. Okay?” I set an apple juice next to him before kissing his forehead and pulling away.
