Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 41634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 208(@200wpm)___ 167(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 208(@200wpm)___ 167(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
"That’s a deep cut," I breathe, reaching for the saline to flush the wound. “Are you left-handed?”
“No,” he answers, completely confusing me.
I blink several times, trying to picture how this cut could’ve happened. “Then how did you cut your right palm?”
“I dropped the knife and tried to catch it.” The look on his face is pure embarrassment. “Dumbass move, I know.”
“Must’ve been a very sharp knife.” I clean the wound with the saline flush. Jaxson winces as the cool liquid hits the raw tissue, but his gaze remains fixed on my face.
"Too sharp. Evidently, I need to start with the beginner cooking implements. Cooking is supposed to be therapeutic. Apparently, the universe had a different plan for my evening."
"So, it would seem," I say, keeping my focus on the wound. I can feel him watching me, the weight of his attention like a physical heat. I try to stay in my professional bubble, cataloging the depth of the cut, the tension of the skin, the way his tendons move beneath the surface. He has hands that look like they belong to a sculptor—broad-palmed, powerful, but with a surprising grace in the length of his fingers. I catch myself wondering what they’d feel like if they weren't covered in blood and saline, and I immediately shut the thought down. Denial is a very useful tool in the ER.
I take out my hospital phone and send the attending a quick text, then I start prepping the suture tray. "The doctor will be right in to stitch you up, Mr. Thorne."
He doesn't even blink as he stares back at me. "Call me Jaxson. 'Mr. Thorne' makes me feel like I’m about to be audited by the IRS."
"I prefer to keep things professional with my patients." I snap on a fresh pair of gloves and set up the tray like it’s my only mission in life, just so I have something to look at that isn’t Jaxson’s hands or his absurdly square jawline. The air in the little ER bay is thick enough to suffocate a horse.
I let out the breath I’ve been holding when the curtain opens, and Dr. Patel breezes in looking exactly like a guy who could run an entire ER, teach a seminar, and host a dinner party without breaking a sweat. Mid-fifties. Olive skin and graying hair that actually makes him look more distinguished than old. Round glasses, and he wears them like a badge of honor. The man exudes confidence, but not the annoying kind. More like “I’ve seen some shit and nothing phases me” dad energy.
The air shifts the second he enters the bay. I swear, the panic and fear of making bad decisions floating around in here just evaporates. He takes in Jaxson’s hand in about two seconds flat, his voice warm and all business. “Deep laceration from fighting with a kitchen knife?” He’s already pulling on gloves. “Let’s take a look. Good work, Harper.”
“Thank you.” I actually stand a little straighter. Why does that tiny bit of praise make me feel like I just won a spelling bee?
He’s all business as usual, not five seconds of small talk. “Alright,” he says, sliding on his own gloves. “Why didn’t you have the team doctor take care of this?”
Jaxson barely reacts as Dr. Patel examines his wound. “I didn’t want to bug him at home.” I don’t think the man even knows how to flinch.
“It doesn’t look as deep as I originally thought. I should be able to stitch it up without involving plastics or ortho.” The doc irrigates the wound again, eyeballs the damage, and gets right to work.
“Sounds great,” Jaxson mutters.
“This is going to sting,” Dr. Patel tells him as he grabs the syringe I laid out. Jaxson doesn’t even blink when the doctor injects Lidocaine into the wound. He just watches the whole thing like it’s a boring YouTube video. Patel works fast and neat. “Good job holding still,” he tells Jaxson, but there’s no real praise in it. We’re just another patch job to him. “You’ll need to keep this clean, and you’ll need a couple of follow-up appointments to make sure it’s healing properly.” Dr. Patel waits while the anesthetic takes effect. “Do you wear your glove on your right hand?”
“Yeah.” Jaxson nods his head.
“Then I think you should still be able to play. Just have the team doc add some padding to your glove. He’ll probably want to check the wound daily to make sure you aren’t causing any damage. He can also remove the sutures in seven to ten days. Avoid putting any pressure on it for forty-eight hours if you want this to heal quickly. You got that, Thorne?”
“Crystal,” Jaxson rumbles.
Patel’s already writing a note. “Your nurse will go over instructions and get you out of here.” The doctor flashes me a quick “he’s all yours” look and vanishes.