He jerks his hand away from me, but he’s bleeding pretty badly and holds his hand to his chest. I can see the red blood blooming on his white T-shirt as he does. “I don’t need gloves. It’s hot as fuck.”
“It’s not to protect you from the cold, dumbass. It’s to protect your hands,” I growl.
“I fucking know that.” He waves his good hand in my direction. “But wearing all those layers gets too fucking hot.” He’s clearly in pain, and I remove the flannel shirt I’m currently wearing, leaving me in just the white tank top underneath, and grab his hand.
I use the material of my flannel to wrap around his injury, then tug him toward the Gator. “I wear layers because anyonewho has any sense knows the extra layers protect you from the dangerous shit out here. Gloves. Long sleeves. Jeans. Boots. It’s not a style choice. It’s survival,” I bite out, climbing into the Gator, and he follows, holding his wrapped hand against his chest.
“It’s not that bad of a cut,” he grumbles.
“You just cut the fuck out of your finger on a seventy-year-old, rusted, barbed-wire fence. You’re getting a tetanus shot unless you want lockjaw.”
“Fuck you,” he grits out, and I just roll my eyes at his salty self, driving us up to the main house. I tell him to get in my truck before I run in to let Kelly know where we’re going, then drive his ass into the pharmacy in Kensley.
I’d take him to urgent care, but I think he’s right about the cut not being all that bad. When we get there, I notice several familiar faces and greet them all, some wanting to stop and talk longer than most as we wait in line to get him his shot.
“I’m fine,” he grumbles for the millionth time.
“You’re not. Just shut up and wait your turn.”
It’s busy in here, but it usually is. The pharmacy has a little café and coffee shop attached to it, so it’s actually a social center in this town. I see Mr. and Mrs. Easton standing in the holiday cards section, looking pretty determined to find just the right card for whatever occasion they have coming up. I wonder if it’s for Oakley, their son.
Oakley is several years older than me, but one of the greats at Kensley High. Coach talks about him fondly. And I don’t know why they’re here today at the same time because thinking about Oakley makes me think about another gay couple from this town.
Oakley and Travis were teammates who fell in love and are now married. They don’t live here. They have a landscaping business in Hayes, I think, but Mr. and Mrs. Easton are pillarsof this community too and are loud and proud about their son. They even have a Pride flag on their front porch that no one—not even the most bigoted fuckers in town—mess with.
“What?” Emerson says, when he catches me staring at them for way too long.
“Mr. and Mrs. Easton,” I say absently, looking away and straight ahead of me now.
“Who are they?”
I shrug. “Just a nice couple from town.”
There’s no way in hell I’m going to tell him about Oakley. I don’t know why my mind is running to him anyway. There are lots of couples here today, with sons and daughters I know who aren’t gay.Why am I so focused on them?
I think I need to get some more sleep or something. My thoughts are getting ridiculous.
When we finally get to the front of the line, Emerson pays for his shot and then gets a jab. The nice pharmacist cleaning and bandaging his wound agrees he doesn’t need stitches.
We’re on our way out when Lucy walks into the pharmacy, her pretty blond hair pulled up into a ponytail. She’s wearing sunglasses, but it doesn’t mean I can’t picture her beautiful, soulful eyes even before she removes the sunglasses and looks at me. “Jasper.”
My name on her lips is a soft caress and a painful gut punch at the same time. I freeze, and I can feel Emerson’s irritation coming off him in waves as he stands by my side. “Lucy.”
Her eyes assess us both quickly, zeroing in on Emerson’s now-bandaged hand. “What happened?”
Her concern for him wriggles through my entire body, making me itch, but I grunt out my answer anyway. “He wasn’t wearing gloves and found out barbed wire isn’t his friend.”
“Asshole,” Emerson grumbles, and my lips twitch with a grin. “I was trying to get some work done while you were off screwing around.”
“I was checking on my family, asshole.” I turn to him, the words coming through gritted teeth, and the fucker actually smiles at me. A proud smirk because he loves to hit a nerve and clearly did it on purpose.
We’re staring at each other, glaring, and my entire body is on high alert, wanting to pounce. To do what? I’m not sure. But when Lucy clears her throat, I jolt and turn to her, having forgotten she was standing there. “I’m glad I ran into you, Jasper. I’ve been meaning to call you or stop by...”
She shifts nervously from foot to foot, holding one of her wrists with her hand and looking down at the floor.
“I’m so sorry I hit you.” Her eyes lift, and I can see them shining with tears. “I didn’t mean to do that. I shouldn’t have done that. It was so...”
I step into her and take her hand in mine, something so natural to me. Touching her. But I also notice somewhere in the back of my mind that it’s not out of the need to touch her, but to comfort her. “Hey, I deserved it.”
