Page 47 of Wrong Number. Right Don.
That answer sends a chill through me, but I bite my tongue. Now’s not the time. I turn back to Sasha’s wounds, cleaning them until I reach the edge of his shirt.
“Help me get his shirt off,” I say instead.
Together, we ease the fabric up and over his head, revealing a map of bruises and cuts, several disturbingly deep. I suck in a breath and reach for the antiseptic.
“This is going to sting,” I warn.
Sasha groans again but doesn’t protest as I start cleaning the gashes. Sergei crouches beside me, wordlessly handing over supplies. I’ve treated patients in some bizarre situations, but never with him as my assistant, and he’s surprisingly efficient.
“What about internal damage?” he asks, his voice low.
I press gently along Sasha’s ribs. He winces sharply when I reach his right side, and I know it’s bad.
“I’d guess he has a few broken ribs. Without an X-ray I can’t be certain, but these two worry me most,” I say, motioning to the spots that made him wince.
Sergei exhales through his nose; his jaw flexes.
“Can he go to the hospital?”
Sergei hesitates, then shakes his head. “No.”
“No?” I echo, incredulous.
He meets my gaze, and this time, the steel in his eyes is unmistakable. “We’ll keep him here. I’ll have a doctor come in later if he needs it. He’ll be fine.”
I want to press him, to demand answers. But I already know I won’t get any. Not tonight, at the very least. So instead, I bandage Sasha’s worst wounds and help him lie across the foot of the bed while Sergei props a pillow behind his head. I press a cool cloth to his forehead and pass Sergei a bottle of water.
“He needs rest,” I say softly. “At least a couple of days. I’m worried about those ribs, so he should stay as still as possible until the pain eases.”
Sasha gives me a weak smile. “Thanks, Nurse Nicole,” he mutters through his split lip. “You’re a lifesaver.”
“Let’s just get you through the night,” I tell him, trying to convey the seriousness of the situation.
Sergei straightens slowly, glancing down at his brother. “I’ll take him back to his room in a minute.”
I nod, rising to my feet and tossing the soiled gauze into a small trash bag I keep under the sink. When I turn back, Sergei’s gaze is on me, curiosity flickering in his eyes.
“Thank you,” he says quietly. “For helping him.”
I fold my arms over my chest, trying to keep my voice level. “You’re lucky I was here,” I tell him honestly. “He’s in bad shape.”
“I knew you’d know what to do.”
His words send a flutter through my chest, but I shove it aside.
“Sergei,” I say carefully, “what’s going on?”
He doesn’t answer.
Instead, he closes the distance between us in two long strides, reaching for my hand. His fingers are warm, a stark contrast to the cold anxiety curling in my stomach.
“I can’t tell you,” he murmurs, “but I want to. You have no idea how much I want to.”
“Then why don’t you?”
He pauses, searching my face. But then Sasha groans again from the bed, and I know his needs are more important than mine right now.
“You should get him to his room,” I say softly. “He needs rest.”
