Chapter 5 #2
The last thing I need is him shoving book after book into my hands, hoping for some sort of miracle. If nothing’s popped up in thirty years, it’s unlikely to now.
“It’s no bother. It’s what I do for other people all the time.”
I’m not getting out of this. That much is clear.
Even if I know it’ll fail. Parents, teachers, girlfriends, they all tried.
Attempt after attempt left me feeling like there must be something wrong with me.
After a lot of introspection, reading isn’t right for me.
It’s not that different than my time on the track and field team.
I was never going to be a sprinter, doing short one-hundred-meter events.
I’m not built for it. That’s fine because I was great at longer distances.
Five kilometers. Ten kilometers. Being part of a team with diverse talents helped me discover that everyone is suited for different things.
Reading just isn’t suited for me.
But if Nix wants to try, then so be it. I’ll spend more time arguing with him about it than I will smiling nicely as he passes off his next great find.
“Great. Thanks.”
“Let’s get these up so you can sleep in tomorrow.”
Sleeping in would be a big luxury. I just want to be able to keep my eyes closed until seven. That’s not a ridiculous request.
As he rifles through the sacks for things, I vaguely wonder if he knows what he’s doing. This place is his baby, his renovation masterpiece, so he must have at least a little skill. Still, watching him mess with tools while wearing a button-up shirt and a bowtie tells a completely different story.
“Can you grab a chair for me?”
“This?” I hold up one of the ultralight chairs that surround the small kitchen table. It can’t weigh more than a pound or two. I’ve been lazy and eating on the couch since I got here, but I’m not sure these would hold an adult sitting down. Using it as a ladder seems inadvisable.
“Perfect.” Nix snatches it from my hands before I can say anything, tucking it under the window and climbing on. His wingtip dress shoes squeak against the plastic as he gets into position.
I’d be happy with stick-on blinds, the ones that take less than sixty seconds to install and supposedly come off without much trouble, but Nix went all out.
He’s got brackets, a rod, and, of course, curtains.
It makes sense, given this is a long-term investment, but still.
It’s an awful lot of work in the middle of the day.
“Could you hand me the hammer?”
Nix’s toolbox is a random assortment of items, most of which look relatively new.
The hammer, on the other hand, is a bright shade of pink, but scuffed up and dented from years of use.
It’s strange seeing it among what looks like a serious collection of those little Allen wrenches that come with Ikea furniture.
“Here you go.” I pass it up to him and watch as he attempts to reach high enough to get the bracket into the spot between the molding and the wall.
“Do you want me to do that?”
He shoots daggers at me, all while barely turning away from his work. So, that’s a no? “Not because you’re doing it wrong. Or poorly. Just, I’m taller, so it’ll be an easier reach.” I’ve got a full head on him. Even on his tiptoes, he’s struggling to reach the right spot.
“I got it. Just relax. You’re the tenant.”
Since I don’t pay rent, that’s a bit of a stretch.
“Okay. Let me know if you change your mind. Happy to help.” Especially if it means I don’t have to clean his blood off the floor after he falls.
Not that I have big plans for anything this evening, except re-watching episodes of one of my favorite sitcoms.
“I’ve got it.”
The way he’s stretching up to reach is something I never expected to find myself looking at. With the effort, his shirt has come untucked and riding up, exposing pale skin across his midsection. I should look away. But I can’t.
If this was one of my friends, I wouldn’t think twice about seeing his bare skin exposed by his raised shirt. I wouldn’t even consider looking away. So why does it feel like an invasion of privacy to be looking now?
I briefly wonder if it’s because I know he’s gay. That doesn’t sit right, though. It’s because it’s Nix, which doesn’t make sense either. I try to shake the thought loose from my mind. Being off work, without a purpose, is starting to get to me.
“Chase?”
“Yeah?”
Nix is giving me a quizzical expression. “You okay? It didn’t seem like you could hear me.”
“My mind just wandered off for a minute.”
“Could you hand me the bar?” He points to the silver rod on the bed.
I grab it, then spot the curtains still on the bed. “Do you want me to put these on it first? It’ll be easier before it’s up.”
“Good idea. I can—” He twists to the side, no doubt getting ready to step off the chair. Except something doesn’t work in the process, and instead of gracefully setting his foot on the ground, his whole body hits the floor.
“Nix?”
Shit. If I killed Russ’s best friend, I’ll never hear the end of it.
“I’m fine.” His voice is meek.
“Don’t move.”
“I don’t think we’re in any danger of that happening.” He groans and closes his eyes.
I rush around to meet him, trying to remember what the instructor said in my first aid class. There was something about not pulling out anything that might be protruding from a wound. Maybe something about not moving someone with a neck injury? Or he’s supposed to put his head between his knees?
No, that’s for fainting.
Shit. Maybe I should have taken notes. I was only there to meet a requirement; I didn’t expect to need any of the information.
I move around the side of the bed so I can get a better view of him.
Nix is lying on the floor, hands over his face, with his legs askew.
“What hurts?” I drop to my knees as close to him as I can get.
The space back here is tight, with very little room between the bed and the wall.
Plus, the stupid chair is in the way. Those dress shoes and that chair were such a bad idea.
“I’m fine. Just got the wind knocked out of me.”
“How many fingers am I holding up?” I hold up three fingers, far enough away from his face that it should be easy enough to see. His glasses are still on. That’s a good sign. Probably.
“I don’t have a concussion.”
“Then tell me how many fingers I’m holding up.”
“Three?”
“Are you asking or telling?” An ambulance. I should call an ambulance to take him to the hospital. I don’t think there’s one in town, so it might be a bit of a drive. Better safe than sorry.
“For fuck’s sake. Just help me up.”
Laughter bubbles up inside me until I’m bent over, gasping for air. It’s the first time I’ve heard Nix use a curse word. Coming from him, on the floor in his bow tie, it’s hilarious.
“Seriously?” Nix isn’t amused, but I can’t help it. “Can you just help me up so we can finish?”
Clearing my throat, I pull myself together and get to my feet. “Here you go, nice and slow.” He grabs my hand and lets me do most of the work getting him to his feet.
“Oh, ouch.” He reaches down to rub his ankle. I know that move. A little too well.
“What’s wrong?”
“My ankle. It’s fine, just a bit sore. I probably twisted it.”
Ankles are tricky. There are too many tendons and muscles, so a lot can go wrong.
I rolled mine in my sophomore year of college and ended up missing almost the entire track season.
“Sit down for a few minutes.” I nudge him toward the bed, and, to my surprise, he actually follows my directions.
“There’s no ice pack up here. If you have one downstairs, I can go get it.
” The freezer currently consists of exactly three microwavable dinners and two trays of ice cubes.
“That’s not necessary.”
I give him my best stern look. The whole RICE thing might be bad overall advice, but the cold will help with any swelling.
“I don’t have one in the store. I’ll ice it when I get home.”
“And when’s that?”
“The store closes at eight.”
“That’s in five hours.” Looking around, I try to come up with an alternative solution.
I grab the bag that the curtains came in and take it over to the kitchen counter.
There’s a full ice tray in the freezer. It’s not a lot, but it’ll make a halfway decent ice pack, at least for the next few minutes.
“Thank you,” Nix says when I return with the bag.
“It’s no problem. Are you sure that’s all you need?”
“It’s fine.”
“Your face is bright red. Did you hit your head on something?” I lean down and run my hand over his forehead, inspecting him for bumps and bruises. People with head injuries don’t always know about them, so I might not be able to trust his judgment.
“Chase,” he barks. “It’s fine. Leave it.”
“Okay.” There’s an edge to his voice that concerns me. Nix is the happy-go-lucky kind, always smiling and cheery. No matter what. He’s either concussed or in a lot of pain. Both are concerning.
“I can come back and finish up the curtains in a little bit.”
“I’ve got it from here.” It’s sticking a rod on the brackets. I’ll have it done before he even gets back to the shop. “Why don’t you relax for a few minutes instead?” I point toward the bed.
“I need to get back down to the store. I left a note on the door saying I’d be back in an hour. That time is almost up.”
“But you’re hurt.” Surely people can wait a little longer for their books.
“Barely. Plus, I’ll be sitting behind the counter. It’s not physical labor.”
I start to argue, then think better of it.
He’s got a point. Even if I volunteered to help, he’d have to be there.
I don’t know how anything works, so the best I could do is make sure no one steals anything.
The only thing I have to offer is showing him that the current task is done and he can check it off his mental to-do list.
Nix limps toward the door, barely putting any weight on his left ankle.
I’m concerned, but I can’t exactly hold him hostage up here.
At least not easily. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Chase.
” He holds out the bag of ice to me. I swallow hard, unsure why all the alarms in my body seem to be going off.
Can you faint from thinking about the possibility of someone else bleeding?
“Okay.” It’s the only thing I can think to say as I take the bag from him.
Nix limps out of the apartment, leaving me holding the makeshift ice pack.
All I can think is that it wasn’t even on long enough to melt.