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Celt lifted one shoulder.
The bedroom door opened. Doc backed in with his arms full and placed a Tupperware bowl filled with goo at my side.
“Wait. You’re not doing that over my new carpet. Celt, get a sheet from that cabinet.” I pointed with one hand while handing over the wounded man’s leg with the other so that Doc could cast him up.
When the sheet had been spread, Doc went to work.
“What about his shoulder?” I asked.
Doc didn’t look up from where he was smearing the white paste over the gauze wrapped around the man’s leg. “Flesh-wound. I packed it to stop the bleeding.” He peeked up at the bags hanging in the window. “Plenty of time to dig out the bullet and stitch him up when I’m done here. Why don’t you bring that pot of water you set on to boil in here?” Even though he didn’t look directly at me, I could see his brow arched over one eye as he reminded me of what I’d forgotten.
“Oh shit.” I lurched toward the door.
Doc chuckled. “Don’t worry, I added more water while I was in there. It’d almost boiled dry.”
* * *
When we’d seen to all of Doc’s demands and he’d excused us, Celt and I went to finish the cleanup.
“Leaving the door open,” Celt called to Doc, “Holler if you need us.”
I opened the far garage door and Celt pushed the bike inside.
“Up against the back wall.” I waved to a semi-empty area then pressed the button to drop the door and found one of the old canvas tarps to cover the wreckage.
Celt positioned the banged-up cruiser where I’d instructed and moved to the side. He leaned against my workbench with both hands shoved into his pockets.
I thrust one corner of the tarp into his chest. “You wanna help me cover it so I don’t have customers asking questions? I’ll work on fixing her up in the evenings while he recovers.”
When the bike was well tucked away, I crossed back to my bench to straighten up. A habit I had gotten into when I wanted out of a situation. The tools felt nice, comforting on my fingertips. Celt joined me at my bench. I heard his boots before feeling his hand on my elbow as he urged me to face him. “Bou, you know I’m only worried about you, right?”
His expression was as concerned as I’d ever seen my big bro. Generally, he acted as rough with me as he did with others in The Ridge. But this Celt reminded me of when we were kids, before he’d moved in tighter with the town’s business. His worry relaxed me too.
“I know.” I touched his arm. “But it’s not necessary. You and Pops taught me well.”
Drab silence hung in the air between us. Celt likely felt the same stab in the heart when I mentioned our dad, but neither of us would address it more than that. Our world embraced violence, and our father had been part of that world too. The last thing he’d said with blood dripping from his mouth was “I’m going home to see my Sophie.” I swallowed past the sudden tightness.
Celt’s throat worked too.
“Anyway . . .” I started.
We both smiled, ruefully and awkwardly, but we smiled. That, at least, was getting easier.
Celt dropped his head and ran a hand through his waves—an auburn I both loved and envied. “Yeah,” he said, his voice hoarse, “I know. But I’m only a text or phone call away, yeah?”
I gave a strangled laugh. “Yep.” Then I turned back to my bench and straightened some more tools that didn’t need straightening. “You know, you need a little lady to worry over.”
He scoffed. “An old lady’s the last thing I need, Bou.”
“Think about it. None of the club’s groupies, though.” I paused, glancing up at him again. “Besides, it’d place all your protective energy somewhere else and take the pressure off me.”
Before he could reply with another dismissal, Doc surfaced from my apartment. Celt went over first; I followed.
“He’s going to be fine.” Doc held up a dented bullet. “This was lodged under his collar bone. Nothing serious, but every time he moved, I’m sure his muscles all locked up around it. I took out the IV, but he’s still sleeping.” Doc brandished a baggie with some white pills.
I opened my hand and waited for the burly man to drop it inside.
He answered before I could ask. “Oxy. Give him one every six hours. I’ll stop by in the morning but try to keep the situation hushed. No need to bring the boys out your way for no good reason.” He scratched his goatee. “His clothes are wrapped up in that sheet. I’d just throw ’em in the incinerator out back in the morning.”
