News to me. Last place I lived the landlord poked his head in so often I probably needed a restraining order against him. But I can’t lie and say I’m relieved Tam won’t be around the whole time I’m here.
“The landlord wants to keep things separate from his living space. Chances are, you’ll never see him.”
“You can come in.” I shuffle out of the way. “Whenever you want. I don’t mind.”
Tam slips me an inscrutable glance as he steps over the threshold and toes his boots off. He has tattooed feet and perfect toes, and I can’t even…
How is this the world I’ve woken up to when I haven’t been to sleep yet?
“Rudy.Dégage. Come on.”
This dog. Despite the stern authority lacing a voice that could charm honey from bees, he doesn’t give a toss. It’s like he wants me to die right here watching his master manoeuvre his wet dream of a body around this gorgeous space, all the while cursing in French. Like he knows it’ll be a perfect death.
Trouble is, if I die, then I’ll never get to examine Tam’s injured wrist, and if I’m certain of nothing else right now, it’s that he has no intention of taking it to anyone else.
Instant expert, are you?
No. Not even close. But that wrist. It’s bothering me, and unless he’s made of stone, it has to be bothering him.
Rudy skids past me.
I lunge and snatch him up. Without his tiny claws scrabbling on the wood floor, the silence is deafening. The clarity—that it’s silly o’clock in the morning and I’m sharing oxygen with my landlord, a man who past-me had pegged for a vagrant, who also happens to be a bare-chested smoke show.
An injured smoke show.
I can’t let it go. I tuck Rudy under my arm, taking him hostage. “You can have him back if you let me take a look at your wrist.”
Tam stops mid-step, already reaching for his dog. “Excuse me?”
He has don’t-fuck-with-me vibes for days, but I stand my ground. He can’t punch me and grab his dog with one hand, so he has to make a choice, and I make an educated guess that he loves his dog more than he loves himself.
“My wrist is fine.”
“Then it won’t take long.”
“What are you? A doctor or something?”
“Nurse. If it’s broken, I can’t help you.”
“Then why look?”
“Could be a sprain.”
“Then what?”
I shrug, out of energy to blag him with. We both know it’s not a sprain. I can see the swelling and deformity from where I stand, and the drawn lines on his handsome face give away that he’s spent all night feeling it for himself, a notion that squeezes my heart all over again.
It’s what makes me a good nurse and a bad one. That I care when maybe I shouldn’t. That I can walk away from my own problems without looking back, but someone else’s force me to my knees.
Skylar…
No. I don’t want to think about him right now. Ican’t, or I’ll drown in this fresh start before it gets the chance to save me, and I’m tired of feeling lost. I’m tired of everything.
“All right.”
I blink to find Tam has edged close enough that I smell woodsmoke and cinnamon dancing on his olive skin. His eyes are fixed on his dog, vindicating my decision to swipe him, but I can tell by the set of his jaw that he wants to show me his wrist as much as he wants to stick his head in the log burner.
Shame for him, I don’t care. I mean, I do. Taking his agency from him is the last thing I want. But my job, wherever I land, is a parade of worst-case scenarios. An untreated fracture can kill a man, and I’ve seen it happen, so I put Tam’s dog down and reach for his wrist.
