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“Looks like you tore some stitches,” Gray said.
Luke forced himself to look down and felt a sharp stab of something that wasn’t pain go through him when Gray’s thumb gently probed at the wound.
“I’m left handed so it’s hard for me to reach that part,” Luke said.
Gray’s eyes lifted in surprise. “You stitched yourself up?”
Luke only nodded and he could see Gray’s brain working but he still didn’t ask the questions he clearly wanted to. “Do you think you could put a couple in there?” Luke asked.
Gray went pale at that but he hesitated for only a moment before he nodded. “If you tell me what to do.”
“My kit’s in my bag,” Luke said as he glanced at the duffle sitting next to the couch.
Instead of looking through it, Gray brought the whole bag over and carefully settled it on Luke’s lap. It took just a few seconds to locate his emergency medical kit. “It needs to be cleaned first.”
Luke watched Gray intently as he got up to wash his hands and then prepare what he would need for the job. As exhausted as Gray looked, he remained steady on his feet and didn’t actually look like he was going to pass out until Luke handed him the curved needle he would need to apply the stitches. By the time he explained the process, Gray had gone even paler than he already was.
“Gray, don’t worry about it. I can manage-” Luke finally said as he reached for the needle.
“No, I’m okay,” Gray said firmly and he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Just…just distract me, okay?”
It was on the tip of Luke’s tongue to say that being distracted was the last thing Gray should be but when he saw the fear in Gray’s eyes, he said, “Why books?”
“What?”
“You said you liked books instead of movies as a kid. Why?”
Gray’s eyes shifted to his briefly but then he returned his attention to Luke’s wound and forced the needle through Luke’s skin. It hurt like hell but Luke managed to remain silent and Gray’s look of concern had him sending the man a quick nod to indicate he was okay.
“Why books?” he prodded as the needle pierced his skin again.
“Something about being able to get lost in them I guess,” Gray murmured.
“Did you need to get lost?”
Gray simply nodded.
“Why?”
Gray’s eyes never left his work as he tied off the first stitch. “My parents fought a lot,” was all he said.
“Are they still together?” Luke asked softly.
“Married forty-three years,” Gray said solemnly.
“Happily?”
“If happily means they don’t talk, sleep in separate rooms and my mom drinks herself into a stupor each night while my dad fucks an endless supply of mistresses, then yes, they’re happy.”
The hidden pain in Gray’s voice had Luke wishing he could reach out and stroke the man’s face. But since that was completely fucked up, he asked “What kind of books?” instead.
“Pretty much anything I could get my hands on. The classics – Steinbeck, Hemingway. Vonnegut was my hero.”
“Is that why you became a writer?”
Gray stopped mid-stitch and looked up from what he was doing. “How did you know?”
Luke motioned to the open box of books in the corner of the living room. “I wanted to make sure the top of the bookshelf was strong enough to support your books so I grabbed a few from the box. You were asleep,” he quickly added. “I saw your picture on the dust jacket of one of them.”
