“Why does he have a rash on his face?” I asked.
His hands flew up to his cheeks, pads of his fingers feeling around like he was trying to see if I was lying.
“From the airbag,” the nurse replied. “It’ll go away in a few days.”
I frowned, the idea of him being in a car accident unpleasant. “What other injuries does he have?” I asked as the nurse cleaned up the inside of his elbow where the first IV had been.
“A concussion. Some bumps and bruises,” she replied, applying a bandage.
The boy lying between us slipped his fingers between his lips to chew his nails. Nail-biting was a horrible habit, and I grabbed his hand, pulling it away from his teeth.
He gave me a hard look and tugged it back.
I caught it again, this time wrapping my larger hand around his to hold it hostage. His leg started bouncing twice as fast.
“I think I’ll put the new line in the other arm. This one’s been through enough,” she said, frowning at the dried blood. “Thinkyou can wash up in the bathroom? It’ll be faster than me using wipes.”
He moved to the edge of the bed, his toes only making it halfway to the floor. He slid closer to the edge, the hospital gown riding up his legs and baring his thighs as he went.
I snapped my eyes at the nurse, making sure she wasn’t looking, and lifted him the rest of the way with one arm. His blue/green eyes were wide when they looked up at me, our bodies so close our chests brushed together.
Teeth sinking into his plump lower lip, he wiggled from between me and the bed to head to the adjoining bathroom. The back of the gown fluttered open, showing me the narrow curve of his lower back and a flash of his boxer briefs. They were red with pizza slices on them.
“I’ll help you,” I said, sliding a hand to the small of his back, noting how thin he was.
He jolted when my palm brushed his bare skin, and he tried to sidestep the touch. “I don’t need help.”
My fingers curled around his side and pulled him back. “You’re unsteady on your feet.”
“I’m not,” he argued and rushed away. Three steps in, he swayed and would have fallen if I hadn’t caught him.
Wrapping my arm around him, I all but lifted him off his feet and hauled him into the bathroom where the light turned on automatically. He recoiled from the fluorescents but said nothing as I carried him to the sink.
After propping him against the tiny vanity, I moved to his back, sandwiching him between me and the sink. When he didn’t do anything, I reached around to turn on the water, making sure it was warm.
Seconds ticked by, and he did nothing but watch the water pour down the drain. I made a sound of impatience, and he lifted his right hand, showing me the bandage.
I took control, pushing his injured hand to his side and then leaning around him, caging him in with my body and arms. With a palm full of soap, I tugged his bloody forearm beneath the water and got to cleaning him up.
His wild hair brushed my chin and the underside of my jaw as I hunched in to work, and I could feel the hammering of his heart through his back against my chest. The bathroom was silent except for the light splashing of the water as I gently rinsed away the blood, looking for more wounds.
It was the stillest I’d seen him in the fifteen-ish minutes I’d known him. His body barely moved, tucked tight against mine, and his breathing was deep and even.
When his arm and hand were clean, I reached for his other hand, which made him jolt.
“Just your fingers, baby doll,” I said right beside his ear. “You had them in your mouth.”
A full-body tremble worked through him, but then he went slack, leaving me to support all of his weight. I did so easily while washing his other hand and then turning off the faucet.
Still pinning him, I grabbed a towel nearby and dried him thoroughly.
“Good, doll,” I whispered, and he swallowed back a whine. “Now back out to get the IV. And no pulling it out this time.”
“I didn’t. I fell out of bed, and it ripped out.”
“I knew you were a little hazard.”
He stiffened and pushed me back as he turned. “I am not.”
