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“Anytime,” I said. And I meant it. I could never repay Tony and Marco for saving my life. “I’m happy I can help.” I glanced over at the prone woman. “Do you think they could bring blankets for the people on the floor?”
“Sure thing,” Tony replied. “I’ll take care of that now.”
“Thank you.” I took one last look at Marco rewrapping his wound, then went to evaluate the other injured. This night had certainly taken a turn for the bizarre.
7
Liam
Thankfully, Emily didn’t have a concussion, but she complained that her neck hurt, so I told her to stay on the floor until the paramedics arrived.
Eric, the man in his underwear, most likely did have a concussion. According to him, his twin brother, Carl, hit him on the back of the head hard enough to knock him out. Then Carl stole his uniform, tied him up, and stuck him in a utility closet. I gave him a cold pack for his eye and told him to stay where he was until EMS came to take him to the hospital.
Carl, the evil twin—who knew that was actually a thing?—did not, in fact, have a broken wrist, despite his insistence otherwise. I thought he might have some tendon or ligament damage from his wrist being hyperextended, but that couldn’t be determined without an MRI.
When I finally got back to Marco, Tony was giving him shit for not letting me stitch him up right away. Lt. Harris had moved on to talk to some of the other guests, so at least Marco was free now. I put my hand on Tony’s shoulder and said, “I’ll take it from here.”
Tony turned and smiled at me. “Good. Don’t let him give you a hard time.” He walked away, muttering under his breath about He-Man Navy SEAL assholes.
I snickered. I met Marco’s gaze, and he smirked. “He’s a mother hen.”
I shrugged. “He’s your brother. He worries.”
“I guess you would know about that.”
I set my bag down so I could look at his wound. “Yes, I would. As much as he can be a pain in the ass, I love Sean for how he took care of me after I got back.”
I pulled on a pair of latex gloves and carefully removed the bloody towel from around his arm. The blade had cut into the back of his arm just above the elbow. His shirt sleeve was soaked with blood where he’d rolled it up.
“Do you want me to stitch this up here, or do you want to go to the hospital?” I asked.
Marco shook his head vehemently. “Jesus Christ, no. I fucking hate hospitals. Just sew me back together and send me home.”
“All right then.” I took a step back and bit my lip. “So…I’m going to need you to take off your shirt—or at least the left side—so I can get to the wound properly.”
There was that smirk again. Why did the man have to be so sexy? The way my cock perked up and took notice was completely inappropriate for the situation. He slowly unbuttoned his shirt before carefully slipping the left sleeve off his arm. My eyes were riveted. First, on his beautifully muscled chest and abdomen. Then, on the ink. On his upper left arm was a large bone-frog tattoo with two sets of initials underneath a date nearly five years ago. On his chest, just above his heart, was a much smaller bone-frog tattoo with the initials T.S. inked just beneath it. No date. I saw part of another tattoo on his back. It looked like an eagle clutching something in its talons.
I didn’t know what the eagle was for, but I knew what the bone frog meant. It was a tattoo exclusive to the Navy SEALs, gotten to honor a fallen comrade. Well, shit. He’d lost three people in combat, and it seemed like one of them was someone he’d loved.
My throat constricted, and I swallowed hard. I met his gaze and gave him what was probably a pretty lame smile. I cleared my throat. “I’ll need a small table you can rest your arm on.”
He looked around and said, “How about one of those server stands with an empty tray over it?”
“That works,” I said.
We got it set up and sanitized, and then I went to work. I numbed the area around the wound, even though Marco grumbled about it, then irrigated it. I was halfway done suturing when the paramedics finally arrived.
I saw the lead paramedic talking to Lieutenant Harris, and then she looked over at me. She didn’t seem thrilled that I was stitching someone up in the middle of a hotel ballroom. Eh, I’d worked in far worse places.
The paramedic marched over and looked me up and down. “Mr. O’Neil.”
I nodded, briefly looking up from my work. “That’s me.”
She let out an exasperated breath. “Lieutenant Harris said you’re a nurse practitioner. Do you have your credentials on you?”
I tied off another suture and looked up at her. “I already showed them to Lieutenant Harris. I assume he knows what he’s looking at.”
She looked like she was going to say something else, but Marco interrupted her. “Listen, ma’am,” he said in his deep, commanding voice. “Liam triaged all the injured here and made sure they were all stable. I asked him to stitch me up because I didn’t want to go to the hospital. Maybe you should get a status report fromMr. O’Neilinstead of giving him shit for doing his job.”
