Soon, we were chatting around the kitchen as ifit was any other night hanging out with Matt in the kitchen. Matt occasionally pulled something off the fire or out of the oven for us to taste, or ask our opinions about various items then jotting down notes.
We had been there almost two hours, just generally enjoying the company and the food, when Quinn burst through the only door that opened to the outside from the kitchen, next to the dumpster area. He stumbled in, and I immediately wondered if he was drunk.
Alarm shot through me, because Quinn never had more than one or two drinks. He may own the brewpub, but he never drank to excess, and that was intentionalon his part. My brothers and I knew that if we ever found a drunk Quinn, something was catastrophically wrong.
I was on my feet in a second. Quinn was bleeding from his face, with blood already all over his shirt, and his clothes looked rumpled, if not torn. He clearly had been out that night, wearing tight jeans and a tight sweater over them. I knew Quinn’s club look a mile away.
It surprised me when Perrin beat me to him, instantly bending Quinn’s head forward, with large but gentle hands.
“Forward, Quinn,” Perrin said. “Blood on the shirt is better than a blood clot.” Perrin was quickly moving him toward the dining area and out of the kitchen.
“Jack, there’s a bag in my ski locker,” Perrin said. “I’ll get the blood out of your kitchen, Matt.” One of Perrin’s hands was on the back of Quinn’s head, still moving him out of the kitchen, and he tossed me a key ring from his pocket.
Matt helped Perrin move Quinn and by the time I got the canvas bag from the bottom of Perrin’s locker, Quinn was sitting at a table in the dining area with Perrin in front of him. Perrin had as much blood on his clothes as Quinn.
Matt moved past me with a stack of white kitchen towels, and Perrin muttered his thanks. There was a trash bag at Perrin’s feet, open to accommodate some already bloodied towels he hadtossed there. Perrin was neat andefficient; no wonder he just took over because he clearly knew what he was doing.
“Hot water? Got the bleeding almost stopped,” Perrin said to no one, trying to keep Quinn’s hands away from his injury.
“Got it,” Matt said, turning back to his kitchen for the hot water.
“Quit feeling it, and let me work,” Perrin chastised calmly.
“Quinn?” Perrin said in a soothing voice, opening up his bag and slipping on some gloves.
Quinn watchedPerrin quickly pull the gloveson.
“It’s not that bad, P. Promise.”I could tell from the tone that Quinn must have also forged a beginning friendship with Perrin at some of the late-night meals. Perrin was just toocomfortablearound him. My gut clenched at the thought of my brothers already getting to know the guy. Jealousy wasn’t good on me.
“Maybe. Let’s have a look anyway, yeah?” Perrin said, still with that smooth, cautious tone. “Thecontamination of your cut leading to infection isnot a small worry for a facial injury, even if the bleeding is stopping on its own.”
“It’s Jack’s fault,” Quinn muttered.
Before I could react, Matt laughed as he returned with the hot water.
“Can’t wait to hear how that’s the case,” Matt said, still laughing with a low rumble, his smile a million miles wide and coupled with his perpetual backwards baseball cap, making him look younger than his age.
Perrin looked at me with a quirked brow and I shrugged. He was still gently cleaning Quinn’s face.
“Want to tell us what happened, Quinn? Better if I know what I am dealing with, really,” Perrin said.
Quinn opened up one eye. “I told you, it’s Jack’s fault,” Quinn grumbled. “Fucking brothers.”
Perrin’s shoulders shook slightly in laughter at Quinn’s tone. Quinn has a dry sense of humor, and Perrinnoticedit instantly. “Pretty sure Jack’s been here all night, Quinn. Sounds like a story we should all hear,” Perrin said as he worked.
Quinn looked over at me then Matt, only moving his eyes.
“It might offend your heterosexual tendencies,” Quinn muttered.
Perrin laughed aloudat that. A golden, ringing sound - his fucking laughhas color.
“Well,” he said, “last time I checked, I don’t exactly have any of those to offend.”
Well, Hallelujah.I wasn’t cut out to be some guy’s gay-awakening. I liked guys who knew what they wanted.
Matt laughed. “Baylor owes me ten bucks,” he said, at the same time Quinn tried to smile and winced, but still said, “called it.”
I looked at Matt. “You bet with Baylor on someone’s sexuality?” I asked, horrified in part, and also not all that surprised. My brothers and I tend to bet on anything, just for a dollar or five or ten and the thrill of being right.My momsalways drilled it into us not to bet what you didn’t have, so we kept the stakes low and the ego high. But, to someone uninitiated, it wasn’t hard for me to see how that could be highly offensive in some respects. Like this one.
