going to lie, the thought of watching these two burly men fuck is a huge turn on. Again, nympho springs to mind.
“Fuck off, man.” Berrin lifts his middle finger, still grinning before shifting his gaze to the empty space behind Franklin. “Where’s Matt?”
“He’s managed to injure himself and won’t let me help him. He’s such a stubborn bastard.”
“What’s he done?” Berrin asks, getting to his feet.
“Deep gash to his palm. Needs stitches I’d say, but he’s refusing to let me take him anywhere.”
“The road’s clear then?” I ask.
“No, not for a car to pass through, but now that the weather’s cleared we can walk and pick up a cab at the entrance to our road. The road is boggy, but it’s doable…” Franklin says, leaving that point hanging in the air. I know what he isn’t saying, that I’m free to go if I want to.
Berrin gets up. “Let me talk to him. Stubborn jerk, he doesn’t need to be getting an infection,” he mumbles under his breath before reaching for me and tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “You good?”
I swallow hard, my pulse hitching at his touch. “I’m good.”
“Franklin, are you good?” Berrin asks, a note of warning in his voice.
“It’s under control,” he replies tightly.
Berrin nods. “Good,” he says, heading out of the room.
I stand and Franklin takes in my outfit, his gaze trailing over me as he comes to his own conclusions. “I see you’re feeling better. Berrin helped with that, did he?” he asks, his voice strained.
“Yes, yes he did,” I respond, refusing to lie.
“Right,” he grinds out and with fisted hands and a tight jaw, turns on his heel and heads towards the kitchen with me following close behind.
Chapter Eleven
“Matt, you need fucking stiches,” Berrin admonishes, holding onto Mathieson’s wrist tightly as he inspects the wound.
“It’ll be fine. I’ll clean it and wrap it up. I’ve suffered worse,” Mathieson retorts, pulling his arm free from Berrin’s hold.
“Listen to me, bro. That looks deep and it will get infected if you fuck about. Don’t be a dick, okay? Let’s get you to the hospital and get this stitched up.” Berrin grits his jaw when Mathieson gives him a look that’s the equivalent to a very adamant fuck no.
“I don’t do hospitals. You know that. I’ve got a kit. I’ll do it myself.” Mathieson opens a cupboard above the sink and pulls out a medical box. He flips the lid searching through the equipment and pulls out a needle and thread, both of which are wrapped up in sterile packaging.
“You’re no fucking doctor, Matt, and it won’t be easy sewing up that wound one-handed,” Franklin points out.
“You want to do it then?” he throws back, narrowing his eyes at Franklin who shakes his head in frustration.
“If you want to look like Frankenstein’s monster then, yeah, hand over the needle and thread,” Franklin snaps back.
“I’ll do it,” I suddenly blurt out.
What?
“What?” the three guys repeat as if hearing my internal thoughts and voicing them out loud.
“Shit, yes! I can do it,” I say, the truth of my words spilling from my mouth with absolute conviction. This isn’t me trying to impress these men.
I can sew up wounds.
I can do it.
I know what to do. I know what equipment to use. I know how to clean and examine a wound and the different types of stitches required depending on how the wound presents itself. I know all of this because I’m a nurse.
I’m. A. Nurse.
That’s my profession.
That’s what I do.
Even though my mind is reeling, and my internal thoughts are zinging with this sudden knowledge, I’m outwardly calm. It’s like someone’s pressed a button, lifting a veil. A laugh bursts out of my mouth as I look at the three men who are staring at me with a combination of incredulity and amazement.
“Holy shit,” I say, laughing again as this knowledge falls into place. It doesn’t hurt. I’m not bewildered. I’m not afraid or shocked. I’m none of those things, and that’s the weirdest thing of all. I’m so calm. Calm enough to notice that of the three men Franklin is the only one who also looks fearful. But why?
“But… how… what?” Berrin stares at me, his mouth agape. “You mean…?”
“Yes, I can sew wounds…” I say, taking a tentative step towards Mathieson who is watching me warily. “I mean, I’m a nurse.”
“You’re a nurse?” Berrin repeats.
“Yes,” I say, blowing out a breath. I know it’s true. I can recall how to suture a wound,