“How do you feel about cleaning it, Oxley?” Mark asks.
I watch Oxley blanch. “He’s green, Mark. I’m not sure he’s comfortable with that.”
Mark chuckles. “I’ll be there in forty-five minutes. Keep it uncovered so it can breathe for a bit.”
“Okay,” I say.
We end the call, and Oxley drops the phone onto the bed. He looks at my leg for a minute longer before meeting my eyes. “Sutures scare me,” he says. “I’m afraid of tearing them and causing more damage.”
I reach for his hand and tug him toward me. He lies at my side.
“Huntley,” he murmurs, his lips close to mine. “Such a perfect name.”
“Ha!” I snort. “It’s not even a real name. Like, why not Hunter?! That’s normal and common.”
“My family prefers unusual names,” Oxley says.
“I don’t think Jalon is all that uncommon,” I say.
“It’s not. There’s at least a semi-common name within the bunch.” I grin. “His kids are Myro, Voss, then the triplets Imry, Avory, and Ellory, and lastly, Loren. All boys.”
“Oh. I really like Voss. It’s like boss.”
Oxley grins. “Yes. He thinks he’s the boss most days. Especially when we were kids.”
“Are you close to them?”
He nods. “We grew up together. My youngest brother is only three years older than Jalon’s oldest son. So we kind of grew up like siblings. I’m barely closer to Jalon in age than I am to his youngest son.”
“Wow.” Oxley smiles, and I can tell it’s fond. “I don’t have any siblings. Or cousins. Both of my parents were only children, so any cousins I have are far removed. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to have a big family.”
“It has its ups and downs, but I’d say the positives far outweigh anything that might be challenging.”
“I always said that when I have a family, I definitely need to have more than one kid,” I say. Oxley is quiet, but I can feel him looking at me. When I meet his eyes, I can’t interpret the expression on his face.
“Three kids,” he says. “I want three kids.”
His statement feels… personal, and I find my breaths have become a bit shallow. We stare at each other, this charge growing between us.
The moment is once again interrupted when his doorbell rings. Oxley sighs and gets up, leaving me in the room to catch my breath and determinedlynotimagining our three children.
He returns with whom I can only presume is Mark. I’m both surprised and not that he’s young. His voice always sounded young, but he appears younger than I would think possible for a doctor. Maybe he’s just aged really well.
“How’re you feeling?” he asks, pulling Oxley’s desk chair over and sitting at the edge of the bed to take a look at my leg.
I nod. “Think I can eat food with flavor yet?” I ask.
Mark laughs. “You can eat whatever sits well in your stomach. If your pain is tolerable, we can start weaning you off the stronger pain meds. I brought something less potent and a lot less harsh on your stomach for you to try when you feel comfortable.”
I watch as he gets to work on my leg, gently cleaning around the sutures and talking me through how it looks and when he’ll be back to take them out. I feel much better about my leg when it’s clean. There’s a lot of bruising, and that gave the illusion that the dried blood was drastically more than what was actually there. The bruises are even greening around the edges as they begin to fade.
“I’d like you to spend some time with your wound exposed. As much as it needs a safe, moist place to heal, it also needs to air out and dry a bit so bacteria don’t set in. Sleep with it covered for now, but spend some of the day with it open.”
“So not under blankets?” I ask.
Mark’s gaze drops to the bedding, and I’m suddenly very aware that I’ve come almost right where he’s looking. My cheeks burn like a fucking bonfire.
He’s kind enough to pretend not to notice. “Oxley is meticulously clean, so while I’d like your leg to remain in the open, if you get cold, you can use a sheet. Loose articles can agitate and irritate your sutures, so let’s avoid that until they can come out.”
