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A dark-faced German Shepherd met him, barking. Brian went still, hands out. “I’m not going to do anything to him, boy, girl. Whatever you are.”
“Diamond, he’s okay,” came the muffled voice.
The dog backed down and Brian limped forward, fighting a laugh. Adam had been standing on top of a 64-gallon trash dumpster to talk over the fence, and the weight of the boy had eventually pushed the plastic lid in. Adam was butt down, legs and head up, scrabbling at the sides of the can to pull himself up.
“Dude,” Brian laughed. “This is not a good look.”
Adam’s face turned even redder, and Brian felt bad about teasing him. Planting his feet, he leaned into the big dumpster to pull him up. The kid was heavier than he looked, and it took them both a minute to get him situated and on his feet. Then Brian lifted him out under the arms.
The dog sat patiently beside them, whining softly. As soon as he was out, Adam crouched down beside her. “I’m okay, girl.”
He twisted his arm to look. There was a long scrape on the back of his elbow that was seeping blood. Adam gasped and he looked up at Brian. For the first time he looked like a scared ten-year-old kid, something frantic in his expression.
“Hey, it’s no big deal,” Brian said calmly. “Let’s go clean you up.”
Adam blinked at him, eyes big behind the glasses, and turned his head away from the arm wound. His face had gone pale at the sight of the blood, which was starting to drip down his arm. “Um, Brian…”
Brian cupped his shoulder and guided him through the back gate, then up the yard to his French doors and into his kitchen.
“Hey, yours looks like ours,” Adam said, his voice faint. He scanned the apartment, avoiding his arm.
Kid obviously didn’t like the sight of his own blood.
The dog followed them inside and sat at Adam’s feet as Brian parked him in a kitchen chair. He snatched several paper towels off the roll and pressed them to the back of Adam’s arm. “Hold this here while I go get my first aid kit.”
Adam blinked and did as he was told. Brian limped and maneuvered his way through the apartment as fast as he could to his bedroom, and the master bath. He remembered throwing the kit underneath the cupboard. Yup, there it was. Just out of reach. Growling, he glanced around, looking for something he could reach in with so that he didn’t have to go down on a knee. Toilet brush? Nasty. But it was kind of new. He’d only used it once.
No. The back scrubber thing he’d bought at the home store the other day! He limped to the tile shower and retrieved the brush, then used it to pull the first aid kit out. He headed back out to the dining room a few moments later.
Adam was still holding the paper towels to his arm and his head was turned away, as if he didn’t even want a glimpse of the blood. “You okay, buddy?”
“Yeah,” Adam said, voice pitched a little higher than normal.
“Let’s go to the sink and wash that arm off. Then I’ll see what I need to do to bandage it.”
“Okay,” he said, standing carefully, arm stuck out like it was made of glass.
Brian guided him to the sink and started the water. Once it was warm enough, he guided Adam’s little arm under the stream, setting the paper towels aside. They stuck to the skin a little, making the boy gasp. “Sorry, Buddy. We have to get this clean. It’s hard to tell what kinds of creepy crawlies are in a garbage can.”
“Salmonella, E. coli, Listeria,” Adam said immediately. “The average kitchen trash can has 400 bacteria per square inch.”
“Is that right?” Brian asked, grinning. “Probably not good in an open wound.”
“No,” Adam said, leaning into him.
Brian felt bad for the little dude, but the scrape wasn’t too bad. “I think a couple of big bandages will cover this,” he said reassuringly.
“Really?”
“Yup. When will your mom be home?”
“Not till ten. She’s doing a weird shift today to get afternoon experience.”
“Well,” Brian said. “Maybe we’ll call her then.”
Adam nodded against his side and let Brian do what he needed to do. “The blood has mostly stopped. Wanna see it?”
Adam looked up at him, grimacing. “I’m not sure that I do.”
