34. Calista #2
“Yeah,” he drawled. “You can try, but I promise you it’s not going to happen. The only way you’re getting him inside of a hospital is in a body bag. Trust me, I’ve tried.”
I blanched at the thought.
“I’m fine,” Lincoln grunted. He acknowledged me with half-closed lids. “Just stitch me up.”
Stitches were not really in my repertoire of expertise. I hadn’t yet been formally trained in suturing. However, I would be lying if I said I didn’t have a training kit stashed away in my desk drawer.
A few unsure steps were all it took to close the distance between us. “What if there are internal injuries? You need an ultrasound to check for?—”
“California,” Lincoln stopped me from ranting. His dark chocolate eyes pinned me. “I’m fine. It’s nothing more than a flesh wound.”
“A flesh wound,” I repeated in disbelief. “I followed a trail of blood down the hall to this room. I find it hard to believe it’s just a flesh wound .”
Lincoln’s Adam’s apple bobbed, eyes closing for a second. “See for yourself.”
I drew in a deep breath through my nose. The copper scent caused my stomach to turn. Lowering myself to my knees, I brushed my hand over his. He understood the nonverbal request and removed his hand from the towel. Trying to steady my nerves, I lifted the material.
I sucked in a breath of stale air. The laceration was a sizable five-inch gash that spanned from somewhere above Lincoln’s hip bone and up his side. While the wound was long, I couldn’t get a good read on how deep it was. It was hard to get a good look at anything when there was that much blood.
“I need water and some clean towels,” I ordered Drew without taking my eyes off the injury.
Within a few moments, he had retrieved the items I had requested. I soaked the worn material in the tin bowl of water, washing away some of the blood on Lincoln’s side. By the time I was able to get a good look at the cut, the water in the bowl had turned red.
“I don’t think you hit muscle, so I should be able to stitch you up without worrying that you’ve nicked anything major.”
“Then do it,” Lincoln said. Sweat glistened on his forehead, exhaustion edging his voice. I couldn’t imagine the kind of pain he must have been in.
“I’m not trained in this,” I said to Lincoln, trying to reason with him. “I won’t be learning any of this until I start my master’s.”
“You’re telling me that you, of all people, haven’t jumped ahead in your studies and figured out how to sew two pieces of skin back together?” Lincoln let out a dry chuckle that ended up in a wince. “I’m not that stupid, California.”
I moved his hand onto the fresh towel, gesturing for him to apply pressure. His movements were sluggish, but he managed to do as I asked.
I turned to address Drew. “Do you have a suture kit?”
Drew produced a box from the top of one of the lockers. “This is all we’ve got.”
The words ‘ First Aid ’ were printed in bold, red letters across the top.
I reached for it, popping open the plastic clasps and praying something useful would be inside.
Among the disposable gloves, rolled bandages, and sterile gauze lay in a black fabric case.
I unzipped it, thankful to see the row of shiny stainless-steel scissors, tweezers, and forceps.
“I don’t suppose you have anything for the pain?” I asked as I sifted through the instruments.
Drew gave me a hopeless look. “Not unless he’s willing to take a few swigs from a bottle of Jack.”
I shook my head, trying to keep a steady hand as I attempted to get the thread onto the needle. “Alcohol will thin the blood and cause him to bleed more.”
“I don’t need anything,” Lincoln argued. He sucked in a sharp breath and my chest clenched. “Let’s just get this over with.”
“Help me lay him down,” I whispered.
Lincoln groaned as his friend helped him lean back on the bench. His size was almost too wide to fit on the thin wooden plank.
I slipped the forceps from the case, willing my hands to stop trembling. “Just let me know if you need to take a break.”
Lincoln’s tired eyes met mine. They urged me to get it over and done with. There was so much pain behind that tough exterior, some of which didn’t seem like it stemmed from his most recent injury.
I was getting more and more flustered by the second.
Here I was, Lincoln bleeding out in front of me, and my hands were shaking so bad that I couldn’t thread the needle.
The back of my eyes pricked with tears of frustration.
I was getting ready to admit defeat when smooth fingers rested on the back of my hand.
“You’ve got this,” Drew whispered.
I sucked in another deep breath before shaking my hands and starting again. After a couple more tries, I managed to tie the suture to the hook. The sharp edge hovered over Lincoln’s skin.
“Let me know if you need me to stop,” I reminded him before cautiously sticking the needle into his side.
Lincoln sucked in a breath, his body going stiff at the sensation. I weaved the sutures around with the forceps and tied off the first stitch.
“How did this even happen?” I asked, trying to keep Lincoln’s attention on my voice.
“Silva’s fucking dirty, that’s how,” Drew announced, his tone heated. His stony gaze was aimed at the door to the makeshift changeroom. “The fucker snuck a blade in under his shorts.”
“A blade?” My movements stilled. “Is that allowed? ”
Drew’s eyes refocused on my hands. “It’s not not allowed.”
“Doesn’t sound like a fair fight,” I muttered, struggling with the bile that was threatening to spill over.
Drew’s voice sounded like sandpaper. “There are a lot of things that aren’t fair.”
The way his hazel eyes shifted over to me, I knew there was more meaning to that sentence than he was letting on.
But I didn’t have the brain capacity to figure it out at that moment.
There were so many questions I wanted answers to.
For example, how could Lincoln choose to put himself in such a dangerous position?
Knowing someone could pull a knife on him in the middle of a caged fight?
I peered up at him. Lincoln’s eyes were screwed together tight, his chest heaving.
As much as I wanted to demand answers, I knew now was not the time.
I hooked the needle into his skin again, trying to keep my mind focused on the task at hand. Silence settled into the room, the only noise coming from Lincoln’s heavy breathing and a nearby boiler. The sooner we got him out of here, and away from this place, the better.
The minutes stretched on. Tension hung heavy in the air, both men waiting for me to finish. At some point, Drew had left to go bring his car closer to one of the Pit’s many exits. It probably wasn’t a great idea to have Lincoln walking across campus with fresh stitches.
When I cut the suture for the last thread, a wave of exhaustion washed over my body. The adrenaline had officially worn off, and I was feeling the aftereffects.
“Alright.” I placed the instruments back into their case. “You’re all patched up. Only twenty-five stitches later.”
Lincoln peered down at his side before looking back at me. His tired eyes danced with humor. “That’s going to leave a pretty wicked scar, huh?”
I couldn’t help but smile. “Most likely.”
I was in the middle of organizing the first aid kit when Lincoln’s soft voice caused me to look up at him, our eyes connecting like magnets.
“Hey, California?” he started, reaching out his hand. “Thank you.”
Without hesitation, I took it in mine, our fingers intertwining. “Anytime.” Then I smiled in a way I hoped would erase some of the tension in the room. “Just don’t make a habit of it.”