glared at me as he carefully took off his
jacket. His plain white tee was covered in blood.
“What the hell! Is that blood?” I asked, even
though I already knew.
Kingston lifted his shirt, gingerly pulling
the cotton material away from his wound, which looked like a gun
shot.
“What’s going on?” I demanded, catching his
gaze in the reflection of the mirror.
“Don’t worry about it,” he suggested, wincing
as the cotton pulled on his skin where the blood had already
dried.
I blinked at him. “Dammit, King! You can’t
just come in here covered in blood and not tell me what you’ve been
doing!”
He gave me a grave look. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine,” I scoffed. “I’ll take you
to a hospital.”
“No!” he shouted, turning to look at me. “No
one can know I was shot, Max.”
I didn’t agree, but I knew there was no way
to convince him otherwise. “What can I do?”
He looked relieved. “Go get the first aid kit
from Freddie’s office and make sure no one comes in here. I’ve got
to get this cleaned up.”
I nodded, barely able to look away from where
he was shot, just under his arm. I managed to get the first aid kit
without drawing too much attention to King and I locked the door
once I was back in the locker room.
“Got it,” I said, announcing my presence.
He looked up at me, his face nearly white.
“I’ve lost a lot of blood. The first thing we need to do is get it
cleaned up and wrapped to stop the blood.” He lifted his arm and I
took a step closer, examining his wound. “It only grazed me, so
there shouldn’t be any bullets pieces embedded in the skin, but
you’ll need to look, just to be sure.”
The idea of poking his bloody flesh wasn’t
one I relished, but I knew I had to do it if I wanted him to heal.
I took a deep breath, desperate to calm my rapidly beating heart.
He poured rubbing alcohol over a pair of tweezers and handed them
to me with a nod.
I thought I might pass out. I’d never seen so
much blood, let alone gone rummaging through torn up flesh for
metal pieces of a bullet. After ten minutes, I hadn’t found
anything.
“I think we’re good,” he muttered with a
grimace.
Thank God . “I’m sorry,” I told
him.
“Why on earth would you be sorry?” His eyes
met mine.
“I know I hurt you.”
He smiled crookedly at me. “Yeah, but it was
better than me trying to look myself. Thank you.”
I didn’t expect or even want an apology. What
I truly wanted was an explanation. Instead of voicing my opinion,
though, I kept silent.
“Now we get to bandage it up.”
I wasn’t sure how we were going to do that,
but Kingston was self-sufficient and made a perfect sized bandage
and had me apply it to the wound. Then we wrapped his chest with an
ace bandage so it stayed. He was sore, but it looked like he had a
bruised or broken rib. It was better than explaining to everyone
that he’d been shot.
I wasn’t done with my inquisition, but he
wasn’t up for it. “You need to rest.”
“Are you going to play nurse to me?” he
asked, his eyes filled with need. After nearly two weeks of working
together and no sex, we were both a little on edge.
“Not a chance,” I replied, hoping to keep my
distance until I figured out what the hell he was into. “But I’ll
take care of you. No benefits.”
He laughed and then winced at the pain the
movement brought him. “Sounds good. Got any pain killers?”
I shook my head and then we left the locker
room. We walked all the way to my apartment before Kingston passed
out. He barely made it to the couch, and I felt like I was carrying
him the last mile.
Once he was safely on the couch, I brought
him a few ibuprofen and a glass of water. He roused just enough to
suck them down and then he was out, sleep taking over. I worried I
made a wrong decision, that I should have just taken him to the
hospital, but I didn’t get much time to think about it, as the
buzzer from downstairs went off.
“Yeah?” I
jacket. His plain white tee was covered in blood.
“What the hell! Is that blood?” I asked, even
though I already knew.
Kingston lifted his shirt, gingerly pulling
the cotton material away from his wound, which looked like a gun
shot.
“What’s going on?” I demanded, catching his
gaze in the reflection of the mirror.
“Don’t worry about it,” he suggested, wincing
as the cotton pulled on his skin where the blood had already
dried.
I blinked at him. “Dammit, King! You can’t
just come in here covered in blood and not tell me what you’ve been
doing!”
He gave me a grave look. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine,” I scoffed. “I’ll take you
to a hospital.”
“No!” he shouted, turning to look at me. “No
one can know I was shot, Max.”
I didn’t agree, but I knew there was no way
to convince him otherwise. “What can I do?”
He looked relieved. “Go get the first aid kit
from Freddie’s office and make sure no one comes in here. I’ve got
to get this cleaned up.”
I nodded, barely able to look away from where
he was shot, just under his arm. I managed to get the first aid kit
without drawing too much attention to King and I locked the door
once I was back in the locker room.
“Got it,” I said, announcing my presence.
He looked up at me, his face nearly white.
“I’ve lost a lot of blood. The first thing we need to do is get it
cleaned up and wrapped to stop the blood.” He lifted his arm and I
took a step closer, examining his wound. “It only grazed me, so
there shouldn’t be any bullets pieces embedded in the skin, but
you’ll need to look, just to be sure.”
The idea of poking his bloody flesh wasn’t
one I relished, but I knew I had to do it if I wanted him to heal.
I took a deep breath, desperate to calm my rapidly beating heart.
He poured rubbing alcohol over a pair of tweezers and handed them
to me with a nod.
I thought I might pass out. I’d never seen so
much blood, let alone gone rummaging through torn up flesh for
metal pieces of a bullet. After ten minutes, I hadn’t found
anything.
“I think we’re good,” he muttered with a
grimace.
Thank God . “I’m sorry,” I told
him.
“Why on earth would you be sorry?” His eyes
met mine.
“I know I hurt you.”
He smiled crookedly at me. “Yeah, but it was
better than me trying to look myself. Thank you.”
I didn’t expect or even want an apology. What
I truly wanted was an explanation. Instead of voicing my opinion,
though, I kept silent.
“Now we get to bandage it up.”
I wasn’t sure how we were going to do that,
but Kingston was self-sufficient and made a perfect sized bandage
and had me apply it to the wound. Then we wrapped his chest with an
ace bandage so it stayed. He was sore, but it looked like he had a
bruised or broken rib. It was better than explaining to everyone
that he’d been shot.
I wasn’t done with my inquisition, but he
wasn’t up for it. “You need to rest.”
“Are you going to play nurse to me?” he
asked, his eyes filled with need. After nearly two weeks of working
together and no sex, we were both a little on edge.
“Not a chance,” I replied, hoping to keep my
distance until I figured out what the hell he was into. “But I’ll
take care of you. No benefits.”
He laughed and then winced at the pain the
movement brought him. “Sounds good. Got any pain killers?”
I shook my head and then we left the locker
room. We walked all the way to my apartment before Kingston passed
out. He barely made it to the couch, and I felt like I was carrying
him the last mile.
Once he was safely on the couch, I brought
him a few ibuprofen and a glass of water. He roused just enough to
suck them down and then he was out, sleep taking over. I worried I
made a wrong decision, that I should have just taken him to the
hospital, but I didn’t get much time to think about it, as the
buzzer from downstairs went off.
“Yeah?” I
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