Colt Read online

  I pressed my forehead against Trevor’s neck and held on for dear life. “Shh,” I whispered, praying I could hold out longer than Trevor. “It’s cool, Buddy. We’ll work it out.” Trevor was hissing through gritted teeth, and his body was still rigid. I felt him tense at his core as he tried to rear back again. I’d locked my forearms in front of me, and although the back of his head made contact with my shoulder, he couldn’t do much damage as long as I was able to hold on.

  By this time, half of my fourth-hour resource room class had ventured into the hallway to stare. “Hey, guys,” I called out, trying to make my voice as bright as possible. “Can I get maybe one of you to run down and get Principal Palmer or the school nurse for me?”

  Three of Trevor’s classmates ran off down the hall. I hoped like hell I could get Trevor to calm down before Palmer made it. I needed the backup but didn’t want to turn this into a bigger deal than it needed to be. The last five minutes notwithstanding, eight weeks into the school year, Trevor Meaney was starting to come out of his shell.

  “Miss Wyler!” Larry Barth, the gym teacher, called out. He ran down the hallway in my direction with his keys and pot belly jangling and his sneakers squeaking against the floor. It was an unfortunate name to have in an elementary school as most of the student body and half the faculty called him Mr. Barf behind his back.

  “Whoa there,” Larry Barf-Barth called out. He dropped down to a squat right in front of poor Trevor but had the good sense not to touch him. Trevor’s end of the spectrum made him prone to serious issues with sensory overload and the fact he was more or less tolerating me was nothing short of a miracle.

  But Larry Barth’s voice had just the right tone. If he had yelled or been stern, it might have wound Trevor up again. Instead, Larry flashed a dazzling smile and got on Trevor’s level. “Hey, champ, let’s take it down a notch. You’re about to break Miss Wyler’s arms. She’s apparently stronger than she looks but another minute of this and we’re gonna lose her.”

  I let my arms go slack. When Trevor didn’t move from his crouch on the floor, I slowly started to bring myself up to a standing position. The plan was to step carefully around Trevor and take myself to a safe distance outside of his personal space. It was a good plan and might have worked. But just before I got fully to my feet, Larry Barth reached out and tried to put a comforting arm around Trevor. My eyes widened and I started to whisper, “Don’t.”

  Too late. Trevor went rigid again and launched himself to his feet knocking me backward. Unfortunately, I’d already half turned sideways to step around him. Trevor inadvertently knocked me into the open top locker door. I lost my balance and slashed my forehead open on the metal edge. I felt the spread of warmth then stabbing pain.

  The sight of blood had a subduing effect on Trevor Meaney, as it turned out. In the back of my mind, I thought I should remember that in case I ever needed it later. He froze, and fat tears rolled down his pimpled cheeks. Despite all of his challenges, Trevor Meaney had a big heart. When I put my arms out again, Trevor let me wrap him in a hug.

  Larry peered down into my face. I saw his look of concern through a sea of red as the blood poured from my forehead.

  “Come on,” Larry said. “You’re gonna need a stitch or two.”

  ***

  Twenty minutes after we got Trevor Meaney under control, I held a bloodied paper towel against my forehead while riding in the cab of Larry Barth’s pick-up truck on the way to Lincolnshire Hospital. I tried to tough it out but Larry warned me I’d end up with a face like Terry Sawchuk’s if I didn’t see a plastic surgeon. I had no idea who that was but gave in immediately after I googled him on my phone.

  “So how much trouble you figure the poor kid’s in after this one?” Larry asked.

  I shook my head. “None if I have anything to say about it. Trevor’s a great kid. He just has a trigger where pencils are concerned. The wood at the tip of number 2s drives him nuts when he touches it. His mom’s really good about not packing them but she has four other kids to send out the door and no help at home. Shit happens.”

  Larry whistled low. “That’s tough. Still, I finally get why they call you Mighty Mouse behind your back.”

  “They do?” I plastered on a smile and tried to pretend it didn’t mean anything. Mouse. It was a nickname my father gave me when I was four years old that stuck among his friends. I felt that familiar twinge of sadness thinking about him. It had been almost five years since he’d died and I still missed him every day. He was the last family I had left.

  I thought I’d left the men who still called me Mouse far behind. Mouse was small, timid. She let big, strong men take care of her growing up. Men who saw her size and thought she couldn’t do it by herself. I wasn’t that girl anymore. Not after that one horrible night two years ago. If my father had been alive then, I wondered how different my life would be today. In some ways, it was better he wasn’t there. He’d be locked up for murder or dead himself.

  Larry’s laughter brought me back out of my head. “You should help me out with the junior high wrestling team. That was a hell of an arm bar you put that kid in. If you hadn’t he would have knocked himself out.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “And thanks for driving me.”

  We pulled up into the Urgent Care parking lot. “You sure you don’t want me to go in with you? I can get my sub to cover for another hour or two.”

  I waved Larry off and gave him a thumbs up as I closed the car door. Larry gave me a two-fingered salute after I slapped the side of his car and watched him drive away.

  I took a steadying breath as I turned toward the hospital doors. My heart jackhammered inside of me. I hadn’t set foot in a hospital since that same night two years ago either. Every day since, I’d tried to put it behind me, focus on my strengths instead of my weaknesses. My cuts, bruises, and broken bones had long since healed. The scars people couldn’t see took longer to fade.

  “So what happened here?” The doctor asked me later as he scooted up to me on a wheeled stool. He’d been here the last time I was brought into the E.R. Lincolnshire is way too small a town. As he pulled up my chart on his tablet, I saw recognition cross his face. He gave me a skeptical scowl.

  “Long story,” I said, hoping he didn’t think I was about to lie. “Smashed it against a locker door.”

  “Locker door, huh? You still over at the Junior High? You’re a special education teacher.” He was still reading my history on his tablet.

  “Uh huh,” I answered, trying to keep my head still. “I could give you a run for your money if we played the Guess What I Had to Smell Today game.”

  The doctor laughed and shook his head. He seemed satisfied with my answer and my shoulders slumped with relief. I didn’t want to answer any more questions about my past. It was over. Dead and buried. He brought the examination lamp close beside my face. He gently probed the wound above my right eyebrow.

  “Six stitches, maybe eight.” The doctor held up his purple-gloved fingers after he’d gotten a look at the cut. “You’ll be good as new.”

  “Do I need a plastic surgeon?” The google image of Terry Sawchuk stuck in my mind.

  He shook his head. “I can call one if you like, but it’s a pretty straight cut. No jagged edges. And it’s more or less lined up with the natural lines of your forehead.”

  The nurse beside him slapped him in the arm. “She doesn’t have any forehead lines, Ed. She’s cute as a button and you’re going to make sure she stays that way.”

  The doctor winked and nodded. He gave a few instructions to the nurse before he walked away, promising to come back to stitch me up.

  “How are you with needles?” my chipper nurse asked me. Her name plate read Helen Battle and that seemed wildly appropriate.

  Icy fingers of panic snaked up my spine. The answer was bad. Very bad. Ever since I was a kid, just the sight of needles gave me the heebie jeebies.

  “I’m good,” I said, wincing. One look at my face and the nurse knew I was
full of shit.

  “Well, you’re gonna have to probably deal with three of them. “When’s the last time you had a tetanus shot?”

  I thought. “Um … probably the Clinton Administration.”

  “Well, let’s get you stitched up and we’ll add that to the menu before you leave. You let me know if you feel like you’re going to pass out. Ready for number one?”

  I nodded. Nurse Battle jabbed me with a needle right near the edge of the gash on my forehead.

  “That’s going to feel tingly in a minute,” she said. She was wearing scrubs covered with baseballs and her shoes squeaked when she walked. “Everybody says it feels like their face is fat for a couple of hours.”

  As far as I was concerned, a fat face would be a vast improvement over the throbbing pain I’d been having since I’d smashed my face.

  “Okay!” Nurse Battle took a step back and flashed me a toothy grin. She was older, maybe close to retirement with a pleasingly plump frame and long red hair pulled back into a ponytail that didn’t quite fit her age. “That’s about the end of my part. Dr. Jennings will be back to take it from here.”

  I tried to smile back. My face really was starting to feel fat. I leaned back on the exam table and tried to get comfortable. The doctor said he’d be back in ten minutes. In hospital-speak, I was guessing that meant closer to an hour. I slipped my phone out of my purse and scrolled through emails to pass the time.

  Lilting laughter caught my ear. It was coming from the nurse’s station. At the edge of my field of vision, I could see a pretty, young, brunette nurse smile wide and flap a hand to her chest. She cocked her head sideways and fluttered her eyes. Oh, I recognized that gesture, all right. The flirting dance of the single white female.

  I scooted forward on my gurney to see what had her so hot and bothered. I hissed from the stab of pain shooting across my forehead. My nurse was going to have to give me another dose of whatever was in that needle before I’d let the doctor come near me with sutures.

  I cocked my head sideways to get a closer view and my heart damn near dropped to the floor. Shit. No wonder that nurse was trying so hard.

  I saw him in profile. Tall, broad, muscular. He wore a plain white t-shirt that stretched over the rippled muscles of his biceps. He ran a hand through his dark hair. Jet black and long enough to cover the nape of his neck. As he leaned forward, resting his weight on his elbow, his hair fell across one dark eye. If he’d been standing that close to me, I’d have had the urge to reach up and brush it away. The nurse at the desk took a step back and her smile widened.

  Oh. He was working her good. He crossed one booted foot over the other and smiled wide, flashing a perfect row of white teeth. He had the girl in the palm of his hand just with the casual way he leaned toward her. He was a player and only ditzy girls like her couldn’t see that a mile away. He laughed at something she said and tilted his head to the side. Oh yeah. Mr. Manwhore was getting ready to close the deal. One more smoldering look in the girl’s direction, or maybe a lazy finger running down her arm, and he’d have her well and truly hooked.

  Oh, but Mr. Manwhore was bolder than I gave him credit for. He leaned forward and pulled a pen out of the girl’s breast pocket. Then he turned her hand, exposing her palm, and started to write on her. Oh brother. I couldn’t help it. I barked out a laugh. The acoustics were better than I expected. He looked up and his eyes found mine.

  He froze. His eyes widened, then narrowed. They were gorgeous eyes, with thick, dark lashes that made him look like he wore eyeliner. His full mouth curved into a sly smile as our eyes met. The girl next to him giggled and leaned forward, pressing her breasts against the counter right in front of him. He gave her a quick glance then looked back at me, his sexy smirk still firmly in place.

  I mouthed the word “busted” at him. I couldn’t resist. If she couldn’t see his moves a mile away, they were pretty easy for me to spot from twenty feet. But dammit, he was good. He fixed that smolder right at me and my own heart started to beat a little faster. He had a small bandage over his own right eyebrow, in the exact same spot as the cut over mine.

  I shrugged and nodded with my chin back toward the girl. Better focus, buddy, you might lose her. He shot me a wink and straightened. As he turned back toward his nubile quarry, Nurse Battle came around the desk and grabbed the younger nurse by the shoulders.

  “You finished running those labs, Kayla?” Kayla’s face turned beet red; she gave an apologetic smile to Mr. Manwhore and scooted around the desk and on down the hall. Here’s hoping he’d finished writing his digits on her hand.

  I didn’t have time to shoot him a satisfied grin. The doctor was back and ready to stitch me up. I thought I was under control, but when I got one look at the suture needle, my gut clenched and I felt this morning’s breakfast bubble up.

  “Hang on, Ed,” Nurse Battle said. She only had to take one look at me to realize I was in over my head on this one. “Let’s get you a cup of water, honey. We’ll get you through it.”

  I nodded, feeling silly. I’d faced up to a lot worse than a couple of measly stitches, but every time Dr. Jennings raised that suture needle, my vision blurred and the room spun.

  “Just keep your eyes on me, honey,” Nurse Battle said. “Don’t think about what Dr. Jennings is doing. He’ll be done lickety split. Just focus on me. You just need a little distraction. That’s all.”

  “I’ll be happy to help. Look right here, Blue Eyes.” My heart tripped. Mr. Manwhore stood right over Nurse Battle’s shoulder and fixed those dark-lined eyes straight at me.

  My throat went dry. I wasn’t some squealing candy striper, but this man looked built for sin. He stood a full head taller than Nurse Battle and she had at least four inches on me. He was a solid wall of muscle wrapped in faded denim jeans and I couldn’t help the slow blush that warmed my cheeks as he caught me looking. Nurse Battle gave him a sideways glance over her shoulder and looked ready to tell him to piss off. But then, Dr. Jennings finished the first stitch above my eye and she could see the value of Mr. Manwhore, at least for the short term. I now gave zero fucks about the needle.

  “Strike out, did you?” I said, taking a deep breath to steady my heart, skittish now less from the flying needle in my skin and more from Manwhore’s close proximity.

  “Oh, you’d know it if I was really trying.” His voice was smooth and dark. It sent a trill of heat down my spine. I caught a stern look from Nurse Battle as she told me to keep still.

  “Don’t let him kid you,” Nurse Battle said. “He squirmed like a stuck pig when he got his first stitch too.”

  “You going to tell me I should see the other guy?” I said, pointing to my own forehead then back to his.

  His laugh was strong and deep with a sexy undertone that made even Nurse Battle blush a little. I bit my lip to keep from smiling. “Something like that,” he finally answered. “What about you?”

  “Not so glamorous. Junior High locker and an unfortunate misstep.” Shit. I shouldn’t have said that. Lincolnshire wasn’t that big a town. I wasn’t sure I wanted this guy to know too much about me right away.

  I knew his type. That swagger, the way he raked his eyes over me so I knew he was thinking about what I looked like underneath my clothes. The trouble was, I was thinking the same thing about him. My eyes followed the vee of his t-shirt to the hint of dark curls on his sculpted chest. But I’d learned my lesson time and again. I was done with bad boys. I’d turned in my danger junkie card. I just wanted to get this over with and get back to school.

  But he wouldn’t stop looking and I can’t deny that I liked it. Just a little. His mouth curved into a smile and when he looked at me again, he reminded me of someone I couldn’t quite place so I said it.

  “Have I met you before? You look familiar.” It sounded like the kind of line he might use and I regretted it, even though I was still damn curious. Yes. I think I had seen him before. But I didn’t remember him looking this rough and dangerous.

  H
e shrugged. “I’ve got family in town. There’s probably a resemblance.” He was holding something back. When he answered me, it was the first time he looked away. That alone should have been a warning. But I didn’t have time to pry further. Dr. Jennings pushed his stool back and snapped off his gloves.

  “All done,” he said and I couldn’t believe it. Infuriating though he might be, Mr. Manwhore had been just the distraction I needed.

  Nurse Battle stepped forward and put a small white bandage over my forehead. It was identical to the one Mr. Manwhore sported. He smiled wide when she stepped away.

  “I think this is fate, Blue Eyes,” he said. “We match.”

  Nurse Battle shot him a look and threw her own gloves in the trash as she walked past him. She turned back to me before she left. “You got this one under control, honey, or do you need me to call security?”

  I raised my good brow in her direction and then looked back at Manwhore. He’d already turned toward her and held his hands over his heart in mock hurt. “Awe, come on, baby. You’re breaking my heart.”

  “Just watch yourself,” she said. “I’m tight with a certain police officer we both know and love. I don’t think he’s gonna raise a fuss if I bounce your ass outta here.”

  Manwhore shot her a wink and she finally turned and walked away.

  “You doing all right for real, Blue Eyes?” he said as he turned back to me. For that brief moment, the swagger was gone and I swore that was real concern that darkened his eyes.

  I smiled and nodded. If he was going to drop the pretext for a second then so could I. “Just an interesting morning. And I’m not a huge fan of needles or hospitals.”

  “Well, I can’t fault you for either.” He took a step toward me and extended his hand. The swagger was back in place. “My name is Colt.”