Wrong Place, Right Time (Solitary Soldiers Book 1) Page 3

  “I’m about to stitch up a man whose last name I don’t know in his basement apartment after we were involved in an armed robbery. This is not normal for me,” she said as she looked up from the kit.

  “Davidson.” He took a generous swig of the whiskey. “Tyler Davidson.”

  “Kenzie Smoak.” She looked at the stove. “We’ll need to boil some water.”

  “They’re clean, still in the packages.”

  “I know, but they still need to be sterilized, unless you have rubbing alcohol?”

  He nodded and took another swig of his drink before putting it down and heading into the bathroom for a second time. He came out with a pretty large bottle of alcohol and put it on the table.

  “Where do you want me? On the bed or the table?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Where would this be easier?” he asked, a slight smirk curving his lips as he looked at her. “On the bed or at the table.”

  She just shook her head and looked at one of the chairs at the table. “Table.”

  He sat down and pulled off his shirt as she started to pull out the supplies she would need.

  “Alcohol thins the blood,” she pointed out as she tried not to stare at his very built and muscular chest. He wasn’t just fit, he was cut, and his body was near perfection. He didn’t have any other tattoos, just the Marine Corps one on his arm, but she did notice a long scar on his right side about halfway between his ribs and his hip. It was the only blemish she could see on his otherwise perfect skin.

  “I need a shot of something to not move too much,” he pointed out as he took another swig.

  She just nodded and moved to the table beside him. She put the kit down and looked around. “Wax paper?”

  “Don’t have any.”

  “A big baggie?”

  “Bottom drawer.”

  She opened the drawer and pulled a large baggie out of the box and pulled it open. She slipped on the gloves that were in the kit and moved over to the small single sink. As she opened the packages she doused the instruments she would need with alcohol before putting them in the baggie.

  There was a full kit in there. There were several packs of different gauge thread, hemostatic clamps, two different sized needles with forceps to control them, a scalpel with spare blades, surgical scissors and a pair of bandage scissors. There were also bandages, gauze and several rolls of tape.

  It wasn’t military, she could tell by the brands of the instruments, and it wasn’t something the average person would have at home. It was a medical grade kit.

  When everything was sterilized she brought the baggie over to the table and stood beside him.

  “I have to look at it first,” she said as she started to pull off the bandages.

  He just sat still and waited while she looked at it.

  “It’s clean, but the edges are a little jagged.” She looked up at him. “How do you feel about scars?”

  “I have enough of them,” he said as he looked at her. “Do you need to cut?”

  “You’ve had stitches before?”

  “A few times.”

  “If you want it to heal clean then yes.”

  “Go for it.” He took another drink before turning to look straight ahead.

  “Are you sure? This is going to really hurt.”

  “I can handle it.” He glanced at her and nodded curtly. “Do it.”

  Kenzie just sighed and picked up the surgical scissors.

  In order to get a clean and straight stitch she would have to cut away the jagged edges of the wound. She would essentially be cutting away healthy skin so she could sew it up, and she was doing it without any freezing or even a painkiller.

  “You might want to take a few more drinks,” she suggested as she paused, the scissors hovering over the wound.

  He took several swigs of the whiskey and then nodded to her.

  Carefully and as quickly as she could she started to snip away small and jagged pieces of skin until the wound was straight and the edges were clean. She had to keep wiping away fresh blood, and with every wipe she felt more and more terrible. This had to feel like torture.

  Tyler didn’t cry out and he didn’t jerk out of her grasp, but he did grunt as his breathing became very erratic, and she could see how tight his muscles were as he sat so rigidly in front of her. A thin layer of sweat appeared on his body and she could tell he was struggling to keep from showing her how much pain he was in.

  “Done,” she said as she dropped the scissors into the baggie.

  He just let out a breath and shook his head as he let his muscles relax. He took a long drink and then looked up at her.

  “Are you sure you want me to stitch it?” she asked. “It’ll take time to get the stitches tight.”

  “I can handle it.”

  “Okay, but if you feel faint or you need me to stop then tell me, okay?” she said as looked right at him. “If you pass out you could hurt yourself.”

  “I don’t pass out,” he said gruffly.

  “I just mean that after a certain amount of pain the body’s natural response is to shut down. It’s physiological, so if you get to that point then please, tell me.”

  He just gave her a look and then nodded.

  “You need another drink?” she asked as she picked up the forceps.

  He shook his head and took a deep breath.

  “Okay.” She nodded and picked up the threaded needle and the clamps. “I’ll try to be quick.”

  Tyler just grunted and she watched as he sat rigid, barely breathing, as he prepared for the pain.

  She was good with a needle and she was quick, but even as she was working as fast as she could she was amazed with the amount of pain he was able to handle. He was struggling, she could see that in the way he was sitting, how he was sweating and squeezing his eyes closed, and how he seemed to be having a hard time controlling his breathing, but he stayed awake and he didn’t move or cry out.

  When she was done she cut the thread and dropped her hands.

  “Done,” she said when he didn’t move right away.

  It took a moment but she watched as his muscles relaxed and he slowly got control of his breathing. When he opened his eyes she saw they were slightly glazed. Shock and the whiskey had set in.

  “I just have to put a bandage on it, this won’t hurt,” she said as she quickly cut some gauze and some tape.

  He just nodded and looked up at her as she gently pressed the bandage over the wound.

  “Tyler?” she asked when he just blinked at her, his eyes unfocused.

  “I feel strange,” he said slowly as he began to tip over.

  “Careful.” She moved to kneel in front of him and put her hands on his chest to steady him. “It’s okay, just close your eyes and focus on your breathing,” she said soothingly as she started to lean him forward.

  “I, what…” He shook his head and tried to sit back up.

  “Breathe, in and out. Just in and out,” she said softly as she pulled him so he was resting against her with his head over her shoulder. She really wanted to put his head between his knees, but she didn’t think he would bend that low without fighting her.

  He started to breathe deeply but the pace was a little fast and it was erratic.

  Between the shock from the wound, the robbery and from sitting and letting her cut and stitch him, it was no wonder his body was trying to shut down. Add the alcohol to the mix and she was pretty sure he would either pass out or throw up before he was feeling better.

  He leaned against her heavily. It was as though he was having trouble holding up his own weight and he was gripping his pant legs so tight his knuckles were white.

  “Put your hands on me,” she said in a gentle voice. “Use me to anchor yourself and just breathe.”

  His hands found their way to her hips and gripped her tight. She could feel him relax, and a moment later she heard a slight clicking sound in the back of his throat.

  She looked around but di
dn’t see a garbage can or anything similar, then her eyes fell on the baggie. She grabbed it and dumped out all of the instruments she’d put in it and managed to hold it in front of his face a moment before he was sick.

  She was a nurse so she was used to patients vomiting in front of her, and even on her, so she didn’t even blink. She just waited until it seemed he was done and then closed the baggie and put it down.

  “Come on, Tyler,” she said softly. “Hold on to me and try to move with me.”

  She needed to get him off the chair and onto his bed, but he was a lot bigger than her. It would be much easier if he was able to help her than if she had to drag him.

  She slipped her hands under his armpits and slowly started to stand. “That’s it, lean on me. Keep your grip on me and just move with me,” she encouraged as he stood up with her. He was steady enough on his feet, but he was shaking slightly so she just held him in almost a bear hug and slowly walked him to the bed. She was grateful it was so close and she managed to get him over to it without stumbling.

  She got him to sit down on it and then knelt in front of him as she pushed him back so she could look at him.

  He looked better. The pallor was gone from his face and the sweat was gone as well. His eyes were a little glazed and slightly unfocused, but he seemed to be in better control.

  “Do you still feel sick?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Still feel strange, faint at all?”

  “No.” He shook his head gently.

  “Okay, let’s get you in bed. Give your body a chance to heal,” she said as she gave him an encouraging smile.

  “You trying to get me into bed?” he asked with a cocky grin.

  She just chuckled and shook her head. “Not like that, Casanova.”

  “Too bad,” he said as he looked her up and down. The look in his eyes was heated, and even though he was a little drunk she could see that he actually focused on her as he looked at her.

  She swallowed and tried not to blush as she pulled away from him and stood up. She knew he was drunk and in shock, nothing he said right now could be taken seriously. A man like him would never look at her like that sober.

  “Come on, get comfortable.” She nodded to his pants. “You wearing anything under those?”

  “Today I am.”

  “Okay, then let’s get those off and get you into bed.”

  He gave her another heated grin and leaned back on the bed, propping himself up on his elbows as he did.

  She just swallowed again and looked at him.

  He wasn’t completely drunk. He was in enough control of himself he could take off his own pants, but as she looked at him she wasn’t seeing him as a patient. She was seeing him as a gorgeous man who was asking her to undress him.

  Shaking her head she knelt in front of him and reached out to undo the button and fly of his jeans. She looked up at him, trying to keep the blush off her face as he lifted his hips slightly and stared at her as she started to pull his pants down.

  She shifted her eyes off of his face and stared at his body as his pants slid over his hips and down his legs. He was gorgeous. His body was spectacular, and she couldn’t help staring as more and more of it was revealed. She noticed that on the top and slightly toward the outside of his left thigh there was a very large and thick scar, almost the twice the length of her hand, and it looked as though a large portion of the muscle was missing under the scar creating an almost gaping indent on his otherwise perfect leg. When his pants were off and on the floor she looked up and him, and his expression wasn’t altogether friendly.

  “Not so perfect, am I?” he asked as he glared at her.

  “We all have our scars,” she said as she got up on her knees and looked right at him.

  “It’s not just a scar. It’s a deformity.”

  “Only if you look at it that way.”

  He stared at her.

  “A scar is just a permanent reminder of an old injury, They’re not ugly, they’re a part of us,” she said simply. “I don’t look at your leg and see a deformity. I don’t see something disgusting or something to be ashamed of. I see proof that you’re an incredibly strong man and you’ve survived something. I wonder what happened to you, what you went through, but I don’t wonder if you’re still whole because I know you are.”

  He just stared at her. He looked as though he wasn’t sure if she was telling him the truth, but there was something in his eyes that made her think he wanted to believe her.

  “I have scars too,” she said with a slight smile. “I wish I hadn’t gone through what I did to get them, but they are what they are. They’re a part of me, just like yours are a part of you.” She reached out and gently put her hand on the scar on his leg, right over where the missing muscle had been.

  As her skin touched his she felt a slight jolt of electricity go through her and she was shocked. She was a nurse. She spent her days caring for people and she never reacted physically to her patients, but Tyler wasn’t really a patient, and they weren’t in a hospital or medical setting. She was in his bedroom and she’d just undressed him. She wasn’t used to her body responding so freely to men she didn’t know, but then she wasn’t used to being in this type of situation with a man who looked like him.

  He stiffened at her touch but didn’t jerk away from her. She ignored her body and focused on his eyes as she pressed her hand a little harder over his scar.

  “This doesn’t change who you are, Tyler, and it doesn’t take away from what you can be.”

  He just stared at her as he took in her words. She wondered what he’d been through to get a scar like that, and she imagined it had been something extremely traumatic.

  “Come on, let’s get you into bed,” she said with a smile as she nodded to the pillows on his bed.

  He just nodded as he scooted up on the bed. He slid under the blankets and looked at her.

  “Do you need your phone?” she asked as she glanced at the floor next to his bed. She could see a phone charger plugged into the wall.

  “Yeah.” He nodded and she went to his discarded pants and dug his phone out of the pocket along with his wallet. She handed both to him and then folded his pants and put them on the edge of his bed since she didn’t see a hamper anywhere. She watched as he plugged it in and put it on the floor next to his bed.

  “Will you go to the hospital in order to get that looked at?” she asked as she nodded to his arm.

  “No hospitals.”

  “Doctor?”

  “Nope.”

  “Do you want me to stop by after my shift tomorrow? I can look at it, make sure the stitches are holding,” she offered.

  “I’m off work at seven.”

  “I’m off shift at seven. What time do you get home?”

  “By eight.”

  “I’ll come by at eight-thirty then, give you some time.”

  He just nodded.

  “I’ll put my number on your whiteboard. Call me if there’s anything, or if you need someone okay?” She gave him a smile as she stood next to the bed. “I’m on shift from seven until seven so I might not be able to answer, but I’ll call you back as soon as I have a moment.”

  Again he just nodded to her.

  “Take care of yourself, Tyler. Let your body heal itself.”

  “Thank you, Kenzie,” he said as he just gave her a smile, an actual and real smile with no cockiness or arrogance, or even a hint of a smirk.

  “You’re welcome.”

  She took a moment to write her number down for him, put all of the suture instruments together and then quickly threw out the used baggie before she headed out of his apartment.

  As she was walking to her car she glanced at her watch and saw it was after midnight. She’d gotten off work over five hours ago and it felt as if a lifetime had passed.

  She’d started her evening by picking up some things for work and had stopped for gas, thinking she’d go home, get something to eat, take a hot shower and get
into bed by eleven.

  She’d gone and picked up some things for work and had stopped for gas, but instead of going home she’d been caught in an armed robbery, had a gun held in her face twice, had been hit in the face with that gun, had watched a man get shot, had tried to stop another man from getting shot, and had then tried to save the man who’d been shot.

  She’d been covered in blood, had essentially taken a sponge bath in the sink at the convenience store, and had then taken a stranger home, stitched up his gunshot wound, undressed him and had promised to see him the next day to check on his arm.

  It was surreal.

  Her life was boring. She went to work, went home and did very little in between. She liked routine and predictability. There was a time when her life hadn’t been boring and it had been anything but routine, but that was in the past.

  She didn’t want to think about what had happened. She didn’t want to think about what she’d been through in the last five hours, and she didn’t want to deal with it. She just wanted to forget it ever happened.

  She drove home on autopilot, barely noticing when she pulled into her parking space at her building and locked the doors as she headed inside.

  When she was in her apartment she looked around and sighed.

  She wasn’t hungry. She hadn’t eaten since one in the afternoon, and even then she’d really only managed to inhale a four hour old cup of coffee and a stale muffin she’d bought on her way to work. She knew she should eat, but she didn’t think her stomach would be able to handle food.

  Instead she put her purse on the table near the door and headed into her bedroom. She peeled off her borrowed scrubs and tossed them in the corner of the room before plugging her phone in, and then headed to the bathroom to take a very long and very hot shower before falling into bed and hopefully getting some actual sleep before she had to wake up for work.

  Chapter Three

  The next morning Kenzie’s alarm went off way too early. She’d set it for her normal time but when it had gone off she felt as though she hadn’t slept at all.

  It had been hard dragging herself out of bed, and it had been even harder getting herself up and dressed for work. She still didn’t have much of an appetite and she didn’t have a lot of time, so she just grabbed her purse and headed out the door. She’d stop for some coffee and breakfast on the way.