Aaron hurried inside. The blood was stronger here. So was the white pepper signature of Cassius’s mate Sydney. She met him in the foyer carrying one of the Freeman twins; the other little one and their older daughter Callie trailed behind her. “Good, you’re here. I’ll keep the girls while Cassius sits with Jeremy.”
“His speech echo’s gone spastic. He needs the peppermint.”
Sydney waved her other hand, which held a brown glass bottle of peppermint oil. “Don’t worry, we’ve got this. You go help Zane. Lucy’s with him in the bathroom.”
Yes. Aaron could trust Jeremy to them. He pulled his focus from his friend’s distress to the job he had to do and headed for the bathroom.
Zane sat on the counter while Lucy held a blood-soaked towel against the back of his hand, his elbow bent to elevate the hand above his heart. He was sobbing hard.
“Look, Aaron,” he said through tears, “I’m bleeding to death.”
“Oh, I don’t think so.” Aaron set his med kit on the closed toilet lid and met Lucy’s eyes. Of course she was calm, but worry furrowed her brow. “How’d it happen?”
“He reached into the trash without looking, and a can lid sliced him.”
Could be bad. He might have to try convincing the Freemans to take Zane to the hospital. That would go about as well as the last time he’d attempted to climb a ladder. He bent down to meet Zane’s eyes.
“Hey, Zane. Can you do me a really big favor?”
Zane nodded.
“I know the blood is scary, buddy. But you’ve got a whole lot of blood inside, so when you lose some there’s still plenty left.”
“P-promise?”
“Promise. But here’s the thing. I’m going to fix up your hand, but it’s harder to do that with some blood in the way, and one of the best ways to make bleeding slow down is to take really deep breaths and cry as little as possible. Do you think you could try that for me?”
Zane took an exaggerated breath.
“Good job. You’re already helping. Now close your eyes for a minute while you keep breathing big and slow. Keep them closed for me.”
Aaron nodded to Lucy, and she eased the towel away. Blood oozed from a gash all the way across Zane’s hand, and the scent of Lucy’s stress spiked. Aaron covered her hand with his to press the towel against the wound again. Good kid kept his eyes shut as he gained control of his sobs.
“Mmkay,” Aaron said. “Guess what, Zane. You’re doing great.”
“P-promise?”
“Absolutely. The bleeding’s already slowed way down.”
Lucy cocked an eyebrow at him, asking if that was for her son’s benefit or the actual truth. Aaron nodded, and she sighed.
“So we’re going to wait another two minutes, and then I think you’ll be ready for stitches. You know what those are, right?”
“They make cool scars,” Zane said, eyes still scrunched shut. “Daddy’s got a cool scar on his foot, and he got it from stitches.”
“That’s right. He was a pup too, a little older than Quinn, and I was right there. And you’re going to have a cool scar just like your dad, on your hand instead of your foot.”
“Ooh,” Zane said.
Two minutes later, active bleeding had stopped. Lucy kept Zane’s arm elevated while Aaron drew up lidocaine and injected his little hand. Then he cleaned the gash with antiseptic and grimaced at the way it gaped apart. He watched Zane’s fingers, but they were motionless. That kept his chest tight as he got out the suture thread, prepared the needle, and went to work.
By then the lidocaine had taken effect. Aaron worked carefully with the child’s soft skin. When he had finished tying off the thread, he wrapped the hand in gauze and a bandage, and then it was time to see if Zane was really okay.
“You can open your eyes now,” he said.
Zane stared at his mummified hand. “Wow.”
“Thank you,” Lucy said.
