Scythe & Sparrow (The Ruinous Love Trilogy, #3)(38)
We stay like that for a long while. When we separate, Fionn checks the front door of the clinic, making sure Matt is long gone before he beckons me to follow. He lifts me into the truck like he always does. He seems nervous to drop me off at home, where I’ll be alone, but after at least five or six reassurances that I’ll be okay, he leaves for the hospital to get his first rabies shot.
It isn’t until later that evening, when I’m lying in bed and staring into the dark, that I realize something.
He never answered my question.
I don’t know if he’s really okay.
BEAST MODE
Fionn
The lights are low. Music pumps through the speakers. The smell of sweat and beer and bourbon permeates the air as I make my way through the crowd. My grip tightens on the handle of my bag, and I push past the people talking and laughing as they wait for the show to begin.
Maybe I shouldn’t like this environment. I know what’s about to come, after all. It’s not really the kind of thing a man like me should condone. But the truth is, I love coming to these Blood Brothers fights. The split flesh to mend. A glimpse of bone. It’s raw and visceral. This is humanity at its bloody core, fights hidden in the dark. My job might be on the sidelines, to fix the damage done during the bare-knuckled fights in a makeshift ring in a rundown barn, but I enjoy it, nonetheless. I’m close enough to feel the adrenaline of the battles and rivalries, and just far enough that I don’t become a different man from the one I chose to be.
And maybe it will take my mind off Rose.
I can’t deny how much I want her. Every day, little by little, it gets worse. Her infectious smile. Her uninhibited laugh. Her wild, unpredictable nature, as though she’s not bound by the same rules as everyone else. She’s so fucking beautiful it sometimes hurts just to look at her. The way she sits at the table to stare into her tarot cards with a braid looped over her shoulder and her fringe skimming her brows. The way her eyes sparkle when she teases me. No matter how hard I try not to let it, my desire for her chews at my resolve.
But I feel like I’m losing my grip on reality. Like I’m not the man I thought I could force myself to be. And that makes me infinitely more dangerous than she is. Because while Rose knows what she is and what she wants and how dark she’s willing to be, I still have no idea what I’m truly capable of. Or what will happen if I let myself go.
I can’t risk her. I can’t.
I need some time to figure this all out. Time around something that gets me out of my own head and into the blood and guts of life.
When I make it to the side of the ring, my designated area, I set my bag down on the folding table and take out my white coat and stethoscope and put them on. I learned early on to do this first, or risk being punched in the face for taking up prime real estate next to the ropes. As soon as they’re on, I wipe down the table and take out the things I know I’ll need, placing them on a sterile disposable mat. Isopropyl alcohol. Cotton pads. A scalpel. Latex gloves. My suture kit.
“Dr. Kane,” Tom says in his best announcer voice, sidling up to my table as I nudge my two metal stools into place next to the table. He gives me a flash of a chipped smile when I meet his eyes, his gaze traveling across the crowd before returning to me. This is his show. His lair. And he revels in every moment of the mayhem. “We’ve got quite a lineup tonight. I’m sure you’re going to be busy.”
“I’m always busy when I come here.”
“Maybe extra busy this time,” Tom says with a wink. “Fury and the Natural are up first. You ready?”
A spike of excitement snakes through my veins. I nod once. “Sure am, Tom.”
“Great.” He claps me on the shoulder. Then he turns to the ring, bringing a microphone to his lips. “Who in this shithole is ready for a fight?” he booms, his words chased by cheers and pounding feet and sloshing beer.
I’ve been here enough times over the last few years that I have this process memorized. Tom introduces the fighters. The packed audience yells their bets. They wave money in the air. Tom’s grown kids and a handful of employees collect wagers. And as Tom booms the limited rules through the microphone, I ready myself. I’m coiled, even though I’m not the one about to fight. The match starts and I shift my feet on the sticky floor like I’m a mirror of the battle on the mats. When the Natural throws a hook, my fist tenses. When Fury ducks to avoid a punch, my head bobs too.
The fight goes the full three rounds. I patch the Natural up with a few butterfly bandages after the second, just enough to keep the blood from dripping into his eye, but by the end of the match, he’s heading straight to me for stitches, the pain likely made a little duller by his narrow win in the ring. His buddy brings him two beers and he chugs the first one. I don’t even bother mentioning that now is probably the worst time for alcohol given he needs at least six sutures. I just disinfect the wound and start my work, piercing his skin and drawing the thread through the tiny, bloody hole I create, tying each stitch with a precise knot.
I’m only three stitches in when a familiar voice grinds my progress to a sudden halt.
“Hey, Doc.”
My heart surges into my throat and lodges there as I whip my head around and come eye-to-eye with Rose. She sinks a bite into a hot dog overflowing with mustard and relish and ketchup. Her eyes glimmer in the dim light as they take in the shock that must be spread across my face.