Page 64 of The Vigilant

How stupid was it that I could identify a man and his home because of dishwashing detergent?

But then there was the rest of…everything.

The photos on the wall. His unit—the other men who worked at the garage who I’d run into from time to time over the last couple of days. In the photos, though, there was one more of them. That man had a separate photo right next to one of my father, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out why.

“We’ll put him over here. There’s more space than in the bedroom and better light,” the doctor said, striding to the dining table that was in his way.

I jerked my head from the photos and nodded.

The door had opened up into the cabin’s living room. Neutral sprawling furniture. A bonsai tree in a small pot just beneath the TV. That was Tynan. The kind of man who patiently clipped away at the small plant, trimming and taming it so it was simultaneously whole yet wholly his.

With a few swift movements, the doctor slid a few chairs out of his way, the sound jarring me that I wasn’t attached to the gurney and should help.

Within a few moments, he and I cleared all the dining room furniture to the side of the room, leaving space for the wheeled bed.

I stayed unmoving then, gripping the handle of the bed while the doctor moved swiftly, locking the wheels and then opening his backpack. Gloves. Gauze. Alcohol. Bandages. Scissors. I couldn’t process everything that came out of what seemed like a medical magician’s bag of tricks, but as long as it fixed Tynan, it didn’t matter.

“Untie his jacket. I’m going to lift him, and then you’ll pull it free.”

I nodded, my teeth finding purchase in the side of my cheek when my fingers sank into the soaked leather. I didn’t know leather could absorb moisture like this. Had never really thought about it, I guess. Or maybe it only soaked up blood. Maybe leather, like loyalty, was the kind of thing that only absorbed blood and tears.

“Ready?”

I set down the IV bag and quickly undid the double knot I’d tied earlier around him.

“Pull,” the doctor grunted, maneuvering Tynan’s weight until I worked the jacket free.

The scent of metallic leather infiltrated my nostrils, blood and oil mixing like the crudest paint, creating a canvas of pain and suffering.

“He’s lost so much blood,” I said thickly, staring at the blood-drenched side of his shirt.

The doctor came over to me, and I looked up at him. He seemed so cold—unfeeling—until he spoke.

“He’ll be fine.” And then he pushed me to the side.

Fine.Again, he was sure, but I didn’t believe him. Not when there was far less blood with Randy.

“What are you doing?

“Cutting open his shirt.”

I should’ve moved more, but I couldn’t seem to find my bearings.

It could’ve only taken a second or two, the way he sliced through the fabric of Tynan’s shirt like it was nothing more than tissue paper, but time stretched longer, counted by each gurgle of blood from the knife wound.

And then before me stretched a mountainous terrain of muscle carved up by running rivulets of blood.

The very last thing I should’ve felt was a bolt of attraction for the older man, who, even wounded and bloodied, was the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen.

Maybe it was because of what happened to me. My trauma. Maybe I was just messed up in the head, having had to be much older than my age for most of my life. Or maybe…maybe it was simply him. The man who took care of me at all costs.

No longer did I think of him as a massive knight who’d given me piggyback rides one birthday when I was six, but a leather-clad gladiator torn to pieces in a battle that wasn’t his to fight.

The door opened behind me, and I turned as the redhead—Rob—appeared, trailing behind her a massive stack of toolboxes that carted a whole host of medical supplies.

I seemed to blink in slow motion while the two of them moved at light speed. Setting up the IV stand. The transfusion line. Surgical table.

Slowly, I was moved to the other side of the bed by the influx of equipment.

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