Chapter Forty-One
Blake
O nce again, I’m reminded why I continue to babysit the three boys even though they’re little hellions. They’re also really fucking sweet when they want to be and take the community aspect of the church very seriously. Though I think it would be hard not to, being a part of a family that’s relied so heavily on their neighbors.
For the last ten minutes, each one has offered Mr. Gibson words of comfort and soothing pats to his large dog, Archie. The dog has calmed down and is laying between the five of us while we wait for Adrian to get back, but his soft whimper tells us that he’s still uncomfortable and the bleeding hasn’t let up at all.
I let the boys fawn over Archie while I tell Mr. Gibson about the last few years of my life since I left the public school system. He’s asking me all of the typical questions an old teacher would be curious about—graduation, swimming, what I’m doing now. I usually do my best to avoid these conversations. For once, I’m willing to make an exception if it means distracting him for a few more minutes.
I don’t mention his wife who passed away four years ago, or what I’ve overheard from my mom and dad—he didn’t cope well with the loss, was fired from his job and that he’s been down on his luck ever since.
No, I let him pry and question my life in a way very few people are allowed. The relief is written across his face with every minute of casual conversation I let float between us.
And finally, about fifteen minutes after he left, Adrian jogs back across the street. He drops down next to me and gently rubs my back for a few seconds before turning to the task at hand.
“I’m going to need to clean it first. I don’t have anything for the pain, but hopefully once we stop the bleeding, some of his discomfort should be alleviated.” Mr. Gibson nods, looking concerned as Adrian pulls out saline for wounds, gauze, and cornstarch. We watch as he takes the lid off a to-go coffee cup full of water. He must have stopped at the small convenience store near here.
Adrian’s eyes cut to mine—and I can see his reluctance to do this, and it tears me up inside. I’m not trying to put him in the same situation my dad was in, but I genuinely don’t know how to not help someone who’s in need.
And when I—or really, someone I’m with—can do something for this man who just needs a fucking win, I have to.
I try to express that guilty plea to him through my own expression, and I can tell the second he truly accepts that we’re doing this.
“Okay, all we have to do after I clean it is use the cornstarch to stop the bleeding.” He goes on to explain to Mr. Gibson everything he’ll have to do—from the cleaning, to applying the cornstarch, to wrapping it. “Before I wrap it, I’ll make sure it doesn’t look worse than a broken nail. There’s no real way to know without going to a clinic… but if there’s nothing obvious, then you’ll be able to tell by how he’s acting within the next twenty-four hours.”
Mr. Gibson nods earnestly, still looking concerned, albeit more hopeful than he has since we got here.
There seems to be a silent agreement between Adrian and I, that we don’t often kiss each other with an audience—outside of Margo and Meera. Which I appreciate, if only because we haven’t had that conversation. But without a second thought, I lean over and place a soft kiss on his jaw. “Thank you,” I murmur, ignoring the giggling from three boys mocking us.
“I’ve always got you, Storm Cloud,” he whispers only to me. “Now, let’s see what we can do for Archie here.” His attention goes back to the dog, and I sit back, watching as he does what he was so clearly born to do.
T he hope in Mr. Gibson’s eyes dimmed as soon as Adrian got the dog’s paw cleaned. While Adrian gets the bleeding to stop, it’s obvious, even to me, that Archie needs more than what we can provide him. The nail partially ripped off, the jagged shape appearing to poke into his skin, resulting in more bleeding. I’ve pulled the boys a few feet away, sitting in the grass, but not before he mentioned that he was worried about the dog’s tendon.
The cornstarch has stopped the bleeding, which is why Adrian’s able to make a better assessment given his limited experience.
I step up behind him, after getting the three boys to calm down when Adrian made his statement. Mikey’s the only one that knows what a tendon is, but his hysterics typically cause his brothers to react the same.
Turning his head slowly, he gives me an apologetic look, and I know what he’s going to say before he opens his mouth. “I have to call your dad… or the clinic. Whichever you prefer. But this…” He gestures to Archie, still whimpering in pain.
“I know,” I admit and nod. “I’ll call my dad.”
He stands and steps closer. “I can do it.”
“No,” I insist. “It needs to be me.”
He gives me a long, assessing look before he nods and steps back to Mr. Gibson. Even though I can see the reluctance in the old man’s features, he never makes a fuss about having to take his dog into the vet. I’m sure he knew from the beginning this is where it would end. Maybe he was just entertaining us.
Twirling around until I’m facing the road, and can’t see any of the people I’m with, I pull out my phone and scroll through my contacts.
After only two rings, my dad answers, “Hi, honey.”
“Dad…” I swallow down the knowledge that I’m about to be in deep shit. “I need you to meet me at the clinic. Now.”