I've seen the scars marking his body, the evidence of the beatings he's taken. Fights. Every time, he survived something that should have killed him. My fucking husband with nine lives. The knife wounds and bullet grazes and marks from fists and boots and god knows what else.
But this time I was there. This time I watched it happen and tried to stop it—but couldn't.
Ciarán comes back with a proper first aid kit, military-grade supplies in a little case. Good. Illegal fighting rings have people who don't go to hospitals. They’re prepared for someone to sew them up and send them out.
Tonight,I'mthat person.
I take the kit with shaking hands and open it. Gauze, antiseptic, surgical thread.
“Ciarán, I need a lighter or matches. And something clean he can… that he can bite down on.”
He produces a leather belt. Cavin eyes it. “Don’t bloody need it.”
“Scalp wounds are different. You're going to feel every stitch.”
I take a deep breath and steady myself. The gash needs to be closed.
“If it's an ambush, they'll be back,” Declan says. “Patch him up fast. We'll get him back to our house.”
“Right. Sew me up, Erin,” Cavin says, his eyes already half closed.
“Declan says?—”
“Sew me up, lass. Can you do it? Could bleed out if you fucking don't.”
Jesus. Up close, the wound is worse than I thought. Deep enough, I can see the pale gleam of skull beneath bone and torn skin. It'll take at least six, maybe eight stitches. I don't know. Iknit, I don't fucking sew human flesh.
I press a towel to his head to staunch the bleeding, my belly roiling.
“I've never done this before. Not on someone I—” My hands start to shake.
“Erin,” he says, his voice slurred. “You can do this.”
“I'm not a… not a doctor.”
“You're smart as fuck. Figure it out.” His good hand reaches up and catches my wrist. “Bravest fucking lass I know. You can do it. Trust yourself.”
Then he closes his eyes, and my pulse spikes.
“Cavin?”
“I'm still here. Just need to close my eyes a minute, okay?”
“Noclosing your eyes. If you fuckin’ die on me, you bloody bastard?—”
“Not dying tonight, love,” he says, but his voice is weak.
“Hold his head still,” I say to Declan.
I thread the needle with surgical thread, my hands steadier now. Mam did this years ago. I saw her when my father came home from a fight outside a pub. IknowI can do this.
I peel back the towel. Fresh blood wells up immediately. I dab at it with gauze, trying to see the edges clearly.
“This is going to hurt. One. Two?—”
I don't wait for three.
The first stitch goes in, and Cavin's jaw clenches, but he doesn't make a sound.
