The Falling Kind (2 page)

              I noticed he grabbed his left forearm as we walked. His eyes winced.

              “I really do think you need medical attention,” I mentioned, noting the blood still appeared to be soaking into the towel. “It looked like a pretty deep cut. Do you want a ride to the hospital? We can grab my car and…”

              “No, really,” he said, cutting me off. “It’s better if I don’t. I don’t exactly have health insurance right now. Plus they’ll ask me all sorts of questions. I really think it’s better if I just take care of it on my own.”

              “Well at the very least it needs to be cleaned out,” I explained. “But you may need stitches. Do you want me to take a look at it?” I wasn’t sure exactly what I was offering him. I dealt with animals, not people. I probably couldn’t even help him. But I felt bad for him and it seemed right to offer some sympathy and take a quick look at it.

              “I don’t want to impose on your night,” he said politely. “You’ve already helped quite a bit.”

              “This is me,” I said pointing to a modest two-story condo. It had a brick exterior and pretty outdoor lighting, but the inside was a bit dated. The rent was decent though, which was helpful since I now had student loans to pay off. The real selling points for me however were the upstairs patio and the fact that the landlord let me have pets – which was a must for my current work situation. “Do you want to come in? I can take a look at your arm real quick.”

              “Only for a minute,” he replied. “I really don’t want to keep you up late.”

              Honestly I wasn’t sure why I was inviting this guy in. He was a complete stranger. Not to mention he was just stabbed ten minutes ago. His lack of distress about it led me to believe the stabbing wasn’t a total fluke or a totally unwarranted violent crime. Since when did a tight v-neck t-shirt and a new wound portray honesty and trustworthiness? Yet I didn’t feel an ounce of trepidation in my entire body.

              I slid the key in the lock and opened the front door, motioning him to follow me in. He smiled and obliged.

              “Do you live alone? Or…” he began, then hesitated.

             
Yep. The exact question asked before you’re about to be murdered.

              “Not exactly,” I snickered as a loud squeal came from the living room.

              “You have a baby?” he questioned, sounding completely caught off guard.

              I couldn’t help but laugh. “No, just a mini pig. And two cats. And two rabbits.”

              “Whoa, that’s quite the family,” he teased.

              “None of them are mine, it’s just temporary,” I explained. “When the local animal shelter gets to capacity they call us. Usually we have some kennels at the clinic to help them out, but sometimes there’s a bit of an overflow.”

              “So you take them all home with you?” he said smiling.

              “Just until they can be placed in proper homes,” I continued. “They have nowhere else to go. I can’t just abandon them, we have to do something. At least in the meantime I’m able to work with them, train them, socialize them…”

              “How do you socialize a pig?” he asked with an amused smirk.

              “Those are actually easy,” I continued, setting my purse down on the small side table next to my couch. I turned on a few lights. I opened up the make-shift baby gate pen I had set up between the kitchen and the living room and the small fifteen pound pig ran out. “This is Dexter.” As soon as Cole reached out an arm to touch him, the pig flopped over on his side, expecting a belly rub. Cole laughed and began scratching the pig’s stomach.

              “This is the weirdest thing I’ve ever experienced,” he said, looking entertained. 

              “You were stabbed tonight, and
this
is unusual?” I snickered. I walked into the kitchen and pulled out a pre-made salad I had in the fridge. I set it down and Dexter came running.

              “Come on, let me see that arm,” I said softly, walking him into the kitchen. He laid his arm down on the center island and I washed my hands quickly in the sink. After patting them dry, I reached out and slowly began unwrapping the soaked towel layers. He sucked in his breath and I could tell it hurt.

              “How bad is it?” he questioned.

              “It’s deeper than I thought,” I replied truthfully. “You’re going to need stitches.”

              “Can you do that?” he asked seriously. “Don’t you do that kind of thing at the vet?”

              I laughed nervously. “Well I’m just a vet tech, so I don’t do the actual stitching.”

              “Well you’ve probably watched it hundreds of times, right?”

              I looked up at him, trying to gauge just how serious he was. “Yes. I’ve watched the vet do them. But I’m not authorized to perform those types of services. I’ve never done it.”

              “I trust you,” he said, still maintaining eye contact with me.

              “Are you kidding? I just said I’ve never done it before and you want me to stitch up your arm? I think you’re in shock,” I said sarcastically. “You shouldn’t let strangers put needles in you. Didn’t your parents teach you anything?”

              “Well my father was stabbed tonight. So if I’m being honest, maybe he’s not the best judge of character.”

              “Harvey is your dad?” I asked, feeling completely confused. There was no resemblance whatsoever, and Harvey looked quite a bit older – maybe more like a grandfather. Cole didn’t look like an Indian with his light eyes and light brown hair. There had to be more to that story.

              “It’s complicated,” he said hesitantly. He didn’t elaborate, suggesting to me that he didn’t want to talk about it any further. “Look, you just fed a house pig a salad. I don’t believe there’s anything you can’t do.” He smiled at me and I couldn’t help but stare back at his face.

              “I have some antiseptic… some hydrogen peroxide, gauze…” I rambled, trying to think what supplies I really had in an old First-Aid kit I kept in the bathroom upstairs. “I can at least clean it out for you,” I said with a shrug.

              He was still smiling at me with such a soft, genuine expression. “I trust you,” he repeated. “Whatever you feel comfortable with.”

              I headed upstairs and pulled out my First-Aid kit. I rummaged through it, noting the contents. It was fuller than I thought, but I wasn’t sure how much of it was really useful for this situation. Some of the creams inside were probably expired already. I closed the box back up and carried it downstairs.

              “So it looks like I have a few things, but…” I stopped talking when I realized Cole was no longer in my kitchen. I looked around the condo. The guest bathroom door was open and the light was off, so he wasn’t in there. The back sliding door was still locked like it was earlier.

              The empty end table next to my couch caught my attention – my purse was gone.

             
Son of a bitch.
I was robbed.

Apparently guys with tight v-neck t-shirts and stab wounds weren’t to be trusted after all.

CHAPTER 2

              Exhausted and frustrated, I reemerged back downstairs in my tiny satin sleep shorts and a thin camisole. My condo felt unusually warm, unless that was just my feelings of anger and stupidity rising to the surface. Who lets a random crime victim into their house? I was such an idiot. This was exactly why I preferred animals to humans.

              I retied my long blonde hair back into a tighter ponytail and stretched out onto the couch, turning on the TV. I needed to unwind before bed. My nerves were on fire.

              Seconds later, my front door opened.

             
Maybe, just maybe, I peed a little.

              I immediately jumped off the couch and into some pseudo karate-style pose.

              Cole just stood there, looking dumbfounded.

              “I’m sorry, did I scare you?” he asked, looking completely confused.

              “What the hell are you doing?” I shrieked, trying to catch my breath.

              “I just stepped outside for a phone call. It was the hospital, calling about Harvey,” he explained, still looking a bit bewildered by what he just walked in on. “Were you going to karate chop me?” His mouth curled up into an innocent smirk.

              “I thought you robbed me and left,” I stated, still breathing hard. “I thought you were gone and I was alone, so then I, and I, and then you came…” I couldn’t get my words out. I wasn’t totally sure what I thought was just about to happen to me.

              “Why would I rob you?” he said with a boyish smile. “You’re supposed to be saving my life with your First-Aid kit. What would I take from you, the pig? He’s still here.” Dexter was snoring under a pile of blankets in the corner. At least I had learned just now that pigs weren’t good security animals.

              “My purse was on the table,” I said, pointing to the side of the couch.

              “Yeah, and while you were upstairs, Dexter jumped up on the couch and was trying to eat it. He was after a bag of muffins you had in there. So I grabbed the purse from him and hung it up on your coat hook.” He pointed to a small wooden plank of hooks I had hanging up by the hall closet. Sure enough, my purse was hanging up next to one of my sweatshirts.

              “I’m such an idiot,” I muttered, shaking my head. “Sorry.” I rested a hand on my hip, just to realize I was barely dressed.

              Cole apparently noticed it too. “I like that outfit better than the scrubs,” he mused, “if I’m being honest. Although the scrubs made me feel safer, particularly if you’re performing surgery on me.”

              “Oh my gosh, I’m practically naked,” I said in a panic, plucking up a pillow from the couch. Unfortunately that didn’t really help. “One minute. Don’t leave and freak me out all over again.”

              “This is Nevada you know, you actually have more clothes on than most women around here,” he said lightheartedly.

              In about forty-five seconds I came back downstairs in a soft, thin knee-length robe. Although I knew it would get hot with the extra layer, I figured he wouldn’t be staying long enough for it to matter anyway.

              “Back to the kitchen,” I directed, opening up the First-Aid kit on the counter. “First rinse it off in the sink to get most of the blood off and then I’ll disinfect it.”

              Cole walked over to the sink and turned on the water. I watched his muscles as they flexed while rubbing his forearm. His physique itself looked intimidating. I could see tattoos on his biceps sticking out of the bottom of his sleeves. I wondered if he had others elsewhere. The softness of his smile though made him seem more approachable. Not necessarily my type, but not exactly someone I’d run away from either.

              Once most of the blood was rinsed off his arm I joined him next to the sink. I took a fresh hand towel and gently padded his wound.

              “Can’t we use the towels from the clinic? I don’t want to get blood on yours,” he said thoughtfully.

              “Those ones are pretty saturated. It’s fine, they’re just towels,” I said reassuringly. I continued to gently press on his deep cut, trying to assess just how bad it was. “I still think you need stitches, but there is a zero percent chance of me trying that on you. I do have some butterfly strips that might work though. If I completely disinfect it and we can close it up tonight, that may work. But you have to keep it clean at all times and use this on it several times a day,” I explained, handing him some ointment. “You should still have someone look at it in the next two or three days though, just to make sure it’s healing properly and to make sure you’re not showing signs of infection.”

              “So, can I take you out to dinner on Tuesday?” he asked with a shy smile.

              “You don’t have to take me out to dinner,” I replied back with a smirk. “You can stop by the clinic and I can have a look at it, if you’re still refusing to have an actual doctor check it.”

              “But what if I wanted to take you to dinner? Would you go?” he asked with some apprehension in his voice. He stared straight into my blue eyes, waiting for an answer. My hands were still on his forearm but the feeling in my fingertips changed. I was suddenly more aware of my physical contact with his skin and it made me nervous.

              “Well, I, yeah, I like dinner,” I uttered.
What was I saying? ‘I like dinner?’
I repeatedly sounded like a mumbling moron in front of this guy. “I mean it’s not that I
wouldn’t
go. But you don’t have to take me out, we can just fix you up at the clinic. You don’t have to take me out for this.”

              “But what if I wanted to? Like on an actual date,” he specified.

              “I’m not really in the market for dating,” I continued to ramble. “I mean for starters, this is a horrible ‘how we met’ story. How do I tell my friends? First you were stabbed in front of my clinic, then I thought you robbed me, which turned into me thinking you came back to murder me, and then we went out for pizza? This just doesn’t feel like a place where people end up on a date.”
Stop talking,
I urged myself. “Honestly I’m off the market right now. I’m taking a break.
”

              “Well you already met my family, Harvey, and I already saw you in your pajamas. We’re practically on third base as it is,” he said jokingly, lightening the mood. “Just tacos. We can keep it simple. We don’t have to call it a date. I just want to properly thank you for what you’ve done for me.”

              “This is already third base?” I said nervously, hung up on those words. “I feel we’re moving from tacos to completely misjudging the distance between third base and home plate. It’s farther than you think, you know…”
What the hell was I saying now? I’m talking in baseball references? What, like I’m into sports all of a sudden? Not to mention the distance between all the bases is mathematically the same, right?
I wanted to shove all the gauze in my own mouth to get me to stop talking. 

              “Sorry, let’s pretend like the last five minutes of my life never happened,” I stated matter-of-factly, finally trying to gather my thoughts. “This is going to hurt by the way,” I said, completely changing the subject. I poured the antiseptic over the open wound, and despite Cole trying not to flinch, I could see his jaw tighten and his fists flex. He still managed to smile at me through his clenched teeth and I appreciated his ability to hold it all in. I probably would’ve been screaming by this point - assuming the initial stab hadn’t already done me in.

              “Are you even going to tell me what happened to you tonight?” I questioned, trying to keep the subject off dinner.

              “Right place, wrong time,” he answered with a shrug. “Something like that.” He again didn’t elaborate, so I let it go.

              “Well the bleeding seems controlled,” I said as I continued to dry the area. Once all the moisture was out of his skin, I carefully applied eight butterfly strips to pull the skin closed. I wrapped it with some white gauze from the First-Aid kit to keep it all together and tight for the time being. Once it was wrapped, I held up his forearm to inspect my work. It seemed well constructed from what I could tell, considering he was the first human I ever worked on.

              “Thank you,” he said softly. We both stood up from the kitchen barstools we were sitting on and I stepped back towards the kitchen cabinets. I threw all of the soiled towels into the trash, smirking when I saw the mangled package of muffins Dexter tried to eat from my purse. They were completely smashed. I washed my hands in the sink and dried them as Cole slowly made his way towards the front door.

              “Sorry to keep you up so late. I know you have an early morning,” he said with such a genuine, considerate tone.

              “I’m sorry you had to see my threatening karate pose in my short shorts,” I stated with a quiet laugh. I opened the front door for him and he gently brushed past me, turning to face me before stepping out.

              “At least I know you’re safe here,” he replied sarcastically with a smile.

              “Are you stopping by the hospital to check on Harvey or are you heading home?” I asked, not because I necessarily cared about the answer. For some reason I just wanted him to stay next to me a little longer.

              “I’ve got a few things to do at Harvey’s warehouse first. Then I’ll head to the hospital after that,” he replied, staring at me with intense eyes like he wasn’t in a hurry to leave either. We stared at each other for what seemed like a full minute. His eyes looked full of so many secrets I wanted to know.

              Without warning, he leaned up against me and pressed his lips to mine, lingering, waiting for my reaction. I couldn’t help but kiss him back.  His lips felt warm and full of purpose and I longed to feel more of them. I reached up and touched his firm bicep through his shirt and he put his hand on mine, squeezing it lightly. His lips continued to press against mine and he no longer felt like a stranger.

              He slowly pulled back, relaxing his hand from mine. He gently brushed a stray section of hair back behind my ear.

              “Goodnight Sydney,” he whispered softly. “Lock your door after I leave.”

              “I will,” I replied with a stupidly dreamy smirk on my face.

              “Are you going to bed?” he asked as he slowly walked down my front steps.

              “I don’t know,” I replied bashfully. “I think I may need to brush up on my baseball.”