I opened the door to the hallway and the smell got stronger.
Bacon. Definitely, bacon.
I was hesitant to step out, unsure of the boundaries in this situation, but my stomach chose that instant to rumble loudly, and decided the matter for me.
I followed a long hallway that I only vaguely remembered from the walk in last night. The hall opened up onto a large open room. To the left was a kitchen with a dining nook and what looked like a door leading to a larger dining room. To the right there was a large living room with a gorgeous stone fireplace and vaulted ceilings. Both rooms were dominated by large windows, the living room floor was a honey-colored wood. The floor in the kitchen was a dark grey slate with splashes of dark copper and dusty blue throughout. The overall effect was warm and inviting.
Lee stood in the kitchen, his eyes focused on the food he was cooking on the stove top. It looked like bacon and scrambled eggs. I certainly hoped it was for both of us, because I was starving.
“Hey,” I said, waving slightly to catch his attention.
Just as I waved and Lee looked up, I felt more than heard the loud rumble of a semi-tractor trailer going past the house. I wasn’t sure if it was the noise, my presence, or something else entirely that startled him, but Lee jumped and the skillet of bacon in his hands sloshed, hot grease pouring over his left hand.
“Shit!” he growled, gripping his left wrist as he stared down at his grease-covered hand.
“Fuck!” I said, rushing forward. Lee seemed frozen, staring dumbly down at his hand, the skin turning bright red at an alarming rate.
I grabbed the skillet out of his hand and tossed it back on the stove, turning the burner off. I shoved him sideways toward the large stainless-steel sink, flicked the faucet on and thrust his hand and wrist under the cold water, holding it there under the flow for several minutes. My worry just increased as I saw small blisters starting to form on his hand. Lee just stared at it numbly. He didn’t even seem to feel the pain the burn must have been causing.
“Mr. Uh… Devereaux?” I said, my fingers still keeping his hand under the cold water. He turned his head and looked at me, but his eyes were distant, unfocused.Shit, that wasn’t good.
“…Lee?” I called his name hesitantly. Slowly, awareness began seeping back in from wherever his thoughts had been. A moment more and he finally seemed to come back to himself.
“Um… Thanks…” He whispered. A strange catch in his gravelly voice made me look up at him, only to realize that I was pressed against him from knee to shoulder, my hands gripping his arm firmly to keep it under the cold water. It was intimate as fuck
I let go of his arms like I was the one burned and moved back.
“Yeah…uh, sure,” I said nervously. I looked around the room for a distraction. “Do you have a first aid kit?” I asked.
“Bathroom,” he said tersely, and I saw his jaw tighten. I hoped itwas in pain, and not that he was pissed at me. Of course, that made me start berating myself for hoping he was in pain.Fuck, get it together, Mason!I ran to the bathroom and began looking around for a medicine cabinet.
The mirror slid out on hinges, and behind it I saw all the normal things you’d find in a medicine cabinet - pain relievers, allergy medicine, some antacids. As I looked for bandages, I saw several bottles of prescription medication in the cabinet. I knew it was none of my business, but I couldn’t avoid reading the labels. Fluoxetine (Prozac), Paroxetine (Paxil), Sertraline (Zoloft), Venlafaxine (Effexor).
There were more, most of them only half full at best, all but one of them with prescription dates six to twelve months old. I knew the names. I’d tried some and had friends who had been prescribed others.
Definitely seemed like my handsome host had some kind of anxiety disorder. I wondered what a guy like Lee could possibly have to feel anxious about. I mean, he was big and strong – I couldn’t imagine anyone ever pushing him around. Then thoughts of the picture shoved into the bedside drawer made me pause. I guessed everyone had their issues.
“Did you find it?” I heard him call. “It’s under the sink.”
I found what I assumed he was referring to. It was more like a giant backpack filled with medical supplies than what I thought of as a first aid kit, but to each their own. I nabbed it from under the sink, grabbed some of the pain relievers from the medicine cabinet, and then took everything to the kitchen.
Lee was seated at the table with a wet paper towel on his hand. As I set the first aid kit on the table, he lifted the paper towel, and I could see there were several medium sized blisters across his hand, and his skin was really, really red where the bacon grease had splashed.
“Shit,” I said, rifling through the kit, pulling out antibiotic ointment, burn cream and bandages. “That looks like it hurts.”
“A bit,” he said.
I looked at him cautiously, trying to figure out what kind of a guyhe was. In my experience, people in pain showed their true selves. Some people lashed out when they were in pain, others bottled it up. He seemed to be the kind that bottled it up, but you never knew.
I opened the packet and smoothed the burn cream on his hand. It was almost clear and smelled like aloe. I figured it had to hurt like a sonofabitch, but he hardly reacted as my fingers smoothed the gel over his hand. The only sign he was in pain was his lips pressing firmly together as I loosely wrapped a bandage around the worst area of the burn.
“Not bad,” he said, lifting his hand to examine my work. He turned his green eyes on me, some of the glitter coming back to them.
“You hurt yourself a lot?” I asked, gesturing at the medical bag.
He grinned. “No. I’m a… Iwasa medic,” he answered, hesitating mid answer.
“Military?” I asked.
