Page 53 of No Way Home
Magnolia clapped a hand over her mouth, trying not to laugh. Her tiny, adorable nostrils flared in and out.
Billy’s eyes flashed to her, then to the mess on the carpet. “Hollis, why are the surgical packs all over the floor?”
“We kind of had a run-in.” She winced. “Literally.”
Finally, he saw the cut on my hand. It was not lost on me that I’d been dripping blood for the last sixty seconds and this doctor, who should’ve been able to smell hemoglobin from a hallway away, had just noticed.
He swore. “Just great. That better not stain.” He glared at me. “And you better not sue.”
Another snappy retort queued up in my brain—mostly about how I didn’t need to sue. My extended family’s net worth would short-circuit his calculator. But Billy looked like he might have an aneurysm on the spot if I pushed him any further, so I restrained myself.
“Well, don’t just stand there gawking,” he barked at Magnolia. “Stitch him up before he ruins the Berber.”
She stared at him, frozen.
“I don’t need to be stitched up.” I swallowed. “Just put some of that glue on it.”
“Glue? On your palm?” Billy said, like I was the biggest idiot alive. “Dermal adhesive isn’t strong enough for a high movement, high-tension area like your hand. Every time you use it, the skin is going to stretch and the adhesive will rip open.” He looked pointedly at Magnolia. “Hop to it.”
“You wantmeto stitch him up?” she asked, not making me confident that she could handle this at all.
“I’m certainly not doing it,” he snapped. He looked back at me. “And don’t even think of passing out. Your mom would murder me.”
It took all my self-control not to say that I’d pay to see that. I let my smirk say it for me. He stalked off, muttering something about blood-borne pathogens and lifelong regret.
Magnolia stepped inside the room I’d just come out of, glancing over her shoulder, her big green eyes urging me to follow. She closed the door and it fell painfully quiet. Except for my heartbeat, which was pounding so loudly, it sounded like an oncoming freight train in my ears.
“Hold on.” She pulled the end of the crinkly paper that covered the exam table and laid it in place. “Have a seat.”
She turned away, hands pressed to her cheeks, like she didn’t know where to begin. I let myself take her in. Even in scrubs, she was stunning.
Unbidden, memories flashed across my mind.
Being her Spartan Race partner meant I now possessed an all-day highlight reel of my hands all over her. Can’t reach the top of the six-foot wall? Let me hold your waist and give you a boost. Foot slipped on the inverted wall? Let me grab your thigh to stop you from falling. Can’t get a grip on the rope climb? I’ll steady your hips while you regroup. Can’t quite make it across the Olympus? No worries. I’ll use my hands as a seat to hold up your very toned, perfectly shaped butt as you make your way to the end. And all of it happened with her wrapped in spandex shorts and a tank so tight I could feel the heat of her skin through the fabric. By the time we reached the Beater and she put her lips on mine, my stockpile of willpower was shot.
No wonder I’d lost my mind and kissed her back the way I did.
But then, an image of her shivering in my arms, nearlynaked, lips turning blue, reminded me that I’d held her curves long before the Spartan Race.
She turned to face me, hands still on her cheeks. “I’m not really supposed to stitch people up yet? Do you just want to run over and let Anna do it real quick?” The only vet in Seddledowne, Anna was the official Dupree family stitcher-upper. If the choice had been between Anna and Billy, I’d have already been halfway to the vet clinic. But I didn’t want to leave this room now that Magnolia was here.
We looked at each other for a couple of seconds. Something in the way she held herself looked like she might fold if I so much as breathed wrong. What she needed right now was to know I was confident she could do this.
“Nah.” I grinned. “I’ve heard about how steady and straight you are in those suturing simulations—”Because Griffin used to brag about it all the time.
Her fingers curled and she swallowed visibly, telling me she was thinking of him too.
She opened a cabinet and grabbed a kidney-shaped pan and a syringe. For a few seconds, it was just the sound of her opening the paper wrapper.
She didn’t look at me while she snapped on a pair of gloves, but I couldn’t stop looking at her. Her blond hair was a couple of inches longer, enough that it wouldn’t be considered a bob anymore. It looked like she’d gotten some highlights, and she was really tan—like maybe she’d recently taken a trip somewhere tropical—her freckles smattering over the apples of her cheeks.
She clicked on the overhead lamp. “I’m going to irrigate your wound with saline,” she said impersonally, like I was an actual patient and not a guy she used to have feelings for. It hurt worse than the cut across my hand. This whole stilted interchange was uncomfortably painful. “This might sting a little, so I apologize in advance.”
I scooted onto the table, wishing her thigh would move aninch closer and brush mine. Just one inch. But she put careful distance between us. Her top teeth tugged on her bottom lip as she concentrated and, even though I shouldn’t have let my mind go there, all I could think about was what those lips had tasted like. Until the saline hit my wound. It burned like she’d poured hot sauce into my cut.
“Tsss—ah.” I stifled a curse word, forcing a chuckle instead. “Sheesh, you weren’t kidding.”
“Sorry.” Her chest heaved in and out like being near me was causing her pain. Then she said three words that sliced straight up my chest and across my heart. “How is he?”
