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  “Despite what you probably think about me, we take infection control really seriously. If I thought the stump wasn’t ready, I wouldn’t lay the ink.”

  For a moment I’m just glaring at her, standing on the street, tourists all around. I step out of her way and head around the block to the car. It’s not that I don’t like tattoos. Not that I love them either. Most of the guys who end up in her chair have been through hell and back. Sometimes twice. She’s set herself up to specialise in tattooing amputees, almost like she’s profiting off their misfortune. That’s a part of it I don’t like. The quick decisions, and the way she pushes is the other part.

  How can she understand that it takes time for the body and the mind to heal? Guys like Trevor need more time. They’re young, they’re rash and they’re brash. Not exactly a great combo for making choices you can’t easily reverse.

  She’s also very young, very flippant and not serious about anything but taking their money. Maybe that’s why she rubs me up the wrong way? I always wonder if anything ever sticks with her because she seems to be constantly changing her mind and her look. Last month her hair was pink to match her runners but today it’s blonde. These guys need routine. They need structure and order. Acceptance.

  It’s like she hates the stumps and scars so much, she thinks no one should have to look at them in the light of day and that kind of attitude causes so much harm. So much extra damage. I hate that attitude and just a little bit, I want to hate her too.

  Chapter Four

  Jen

  “What the hell is his major malfunction?” I ask Trevor as we settle in for some outlining. The piece is sick as fuck and as long as it heals well, this one will go into my portfolio.

  Trevor scowls and flinches slightly at the first touch of the needle. “It’s like he’s captain pious and everyone else has to fall in line. I appreciate his help, I do, but I did my time being told what to do and when to do it.”

  “How long were you in the army?” I ask, more to make small talk to keep his mind off the pain than anything else. I hate the military and what they stand for, the violence, the frat boy atmosphere, the ostracization and ‘making killers’ mentality, but I also know they’re a necessary evil.

  “Fifteen years. Two overseas tours. One short-lived marriage. Six changes semi-permanent of address.”

  It seems wrong not to say, “Thank you for your service.”

  Trevor laughs. “Thanks for nothing more like. You give a leg for your country and they just ship you off to a hospital full of do-gooders so you can prepare for a payout or a pension.”

  “Better than dead though, yeah?”

  “Depends who you ask.”

  I’ve had some low points in the last year but I never once wished for it all to end. The pain yes. The defeat and depression, yes and yes. Not my life though. “I thought about joining the Airforce once.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  My turn to laugh. “I liked the overalls, you know? The way they tie them around their waists and walk around in those big chunky combat boots looking hot, aviators on, toothpick hanging from their mouths.”

  I lift the handpiece as Trevor laughs long and loud. “You watch too many movies, Jen.”

  “Top Gun was my favourite when I went through the Tom Cruise stage of my teens. That might have had something to do with the fascination.”

  “You still didn’t say why you didn’t join up?”

  “Too much time away from home.” From my sisters. From my aunt who was sick. “Too regimented too. I heard they tell you when to sleep, when to eat, when to shit.”

  This time Trevor doesn’t laugh. He just nods. “It’s like that sometimes, under some circumstance, but not often. You need to shit, you shit.”

  I put my head back down to tackle a tricky outline but Trevor flinches again. “I need you to stay still for me, Trevor. It’ll make my job much easier.”

  His leg flicks again and then again. Then the whole table shakes.

  “Trevor?” I jump to my feet, drop everything to the floor and put my hands on his shoulders. “Trevor? You still with me?”

  I’ve never seen a seizure firsthand, but I know what it looks like and Trevor’s having one. I can’t put the backboard of the bed down without leaning him forward and I can’t do that while he’s stiff. His body arches and goes rigid and I’m falling backwards, Trevor’s coming too. We hit the floor hard and the breath is knocked from my lungs but I know I have to protect his head. He’s not a small guy and he’s pinned my leg so I wrench free and slide myself up to cushion his skull but I’ve got nothing close so I use my hands.

  “Help me!” I yell. “I need help in here!”

  It seems like forever until the door is thrown open. Connor takes one look at the both of us and runs away. I hope he’s calling an ambulance. The seizure lasts a long time and when Trevor’s body finally relaxes, he doesn’t come to. His eyes are closed and there’s drool at the edge of his mouth. It drips down the side of his neck and I wipe it away with my fingers. God, my hands hurts now.

  There’s a flurry of activity as Jack, Jo and Ash crowd around me and the big guy on the floor.

  “What do we do?” Jack asks no one in particular.

  I sigh. “Nothing. We wait for the ambulance. We don’t move him at all. If he comes around, we keep him as still as we can until they get here.”

  The ambos don’t take long. There’s a headquarters a few streets away. I recognise both first responders from the around the place, locals. Trevor is still out cold.

  “What happened?” the cute one asks me. He’s a silver fox, forty, maybe more. Nice smile.

  “He was talking, laughing. We were doing great. Then he seized. No warning.”

  “Has this happened to him before? Any prior medical conditions?”

  I make eye contact with Jo. “Can you pull his paperwork? There were no regular alarm bells that I can remember.” We like to ask the clients about their medical history, diabetes, pregnancy, heart conditions, that sort of thing. Anything that could hinder or make healing more dangerous than the usual. I don’t recall Trevor having any conditions and if he did, he wouldn’t have been in the army, would he? Ben.

  “Ash, can you track Ben down? He’s the OT. He might know more?”

  “You got his number?”

  I shake my head. “It might be in Trevor’s phone if it doesn’t have a screen lock?”

  The ambos are trying to get a response from Trevor. They’ve cut his t-shirt down the middle and are sticking all sorts of monitors on. I’m holding his head still. I’m trapped in the corner anyway.

  “Blood sugar is a little low,” the younger of the two murmurs to the other one. A lady. Fierce red hair, intense green eyes, competent hands.

  “How low?” Silver fox asks her.

  “Not low enough for a black out.”

  Silver fox nods. “Heart rhythm is normal.”

  A voice shatters the calm chaos. “What the hell happened?”

  I lift my gaze from the patient and meet angry rainforest green eyes, no less intense than the other set in the room. “He had a seizure.”

  “I knew something like this would happen,” he growls, furious. At me.

  Silver fox says, “You family? Has he had seizures before?”

  Ben shakes his head. “I’m his occupational therapist over at Cadaline. This is new. Trevor lost a leg a while back, damage to the other one, but no serious internal injuries, no other complications besides some pretty nasty infections.” He narrows in on me as he says, infections.

  Ambo two, the lady, says, “He has a slight temp, thirty-eight. Could be brewing something?”

  “Let’s get him to The Royal. He’s stable enough to move.” Silver Fox gives me his attention next. He looks me up and down. “Are you okay? This kind of thing can be pretty confronting.”

  I am not going to mention we went down and hit the floor hard. I do not need a hospital trip today. “I’m fine. Concentrate on Trevor.”
<
br />   All eyes are on me and they’re not buying it. It’s Ben who drops the shocker with, “I’ll check her over and then follow you to the hospital. If she’s hurt and not letting on, I’ll bring her with me.”

  Fucking cave man attitude shits me. “I’m fine,” I tell him, them, everyone. “Trevor’s the one who fell from the bed.” But it’s a narrow space and the chances of him falling and me not being in the line of the fall are slim. We all know it but I’m stubborn. Sue me.

  The tiles are hard and cold so I’m relieved when they roll Trevor onto a backboard and the boys help lift him from the room and onto the gurney waiting in the corridor. We get at least one fainter a month but we’re used to them eventually walking out on their own, not leaving like this.

  I cradle my head in my aching hands for a minute and wonder if this was my fault. I know it wasn’t but maybe I should have slowed down? Kept a closer eye on the client?

  God forbid, was Ben right?

  I scoff. Nah. No way.

  “You think it’s funny?” he asks. I thought he would have walked out with everyone else.

  “I was just thinking of the ‘I told you so’ I’m probably about to cop.” I don’t want to make eye contact, see the condemnation, the anger. I did everything right. By the book. I always do. Infection control is something we take so seriously. I think about telling him that again but I don’t. It’ll fall on deaf ears. Again.

  He doesn’t throw me a response, an insult, the ‘I told you so’. Nothing comes. I wonder if he’s walked out but when I look up again, he’s uneasy and he’s staring, but not at me.

  Fuck.

  Fuckity fuck fuck.

  Chapter Five

  Ben

  “You have a prosthesis?” It’s pretty plainly obvious but the words come out anyway. There, lying on the shiny concrete floor between us is a short prosthetic limb with a hot pink runner laced up over the artificial foot.

  Her jeans leg is lying flat from below the knee and she’s sitting awkwardly but that could be my presence. Or it could be that she fell too.

  Two sharp claps fill the air. “A gold star for you, Captain Obvious.”

  “How did your leg come off?” I want to ask her how she lost her leg but the expression on her face tells me I won’t get the truth.

  Silence meets my question until she says, “I overbalanced as we fell.”

  That’s bullshit. I don’t call her on it. Not yet. “Are you hurt?”

  “Only my pride.”

  I don’t believe her. And I don’t believe her. Why the hell didn’t she tell me about her leg? Correct me every time I told her she didn’t understand? Couldn’t possibly understand.

  Now I look like the world’s biggest wanker.

  “Can I help you up?”

  “I thought you’d never offer,” she mutters from the floor.

  I hold out two hands because she won’t be steady on one leg no matter how you slice this one. She’s been down for a while. She doesn’t take them.

  “Can you hand me my foot first please. I’ll wriggle into it and then you can help me up?”

  “How about we get you up and then I’ll help you reattach?”

  “I can do it here.”

  “I want to make sure you didn’t hurt yourself first. How’s the sock sitting?”

  “My sock,” she spits the words, “is just fine. I’m fine.”

  “Then it won’t take long for me to take a look then, will it?”

  “Are you always this unbelievably annoying?”

  “Only when I’m being unbelievably annoyed,” I tell her with a grin. This is the first time I’ve ever had the upper hand with her and even though it isn’t the right circumstance to enjoy it, I do anyway.

  “You’re not likely to let this go are you?”

  “Nope. I’ll help you up but then I want to examine you before you put the leg back on.”

  She sputters and colour fills her cheeks. Blushing? I didn’t think she could. I thought her feathers were unrufflable. “You’re not a doctor. You’re not fucking examining anything.”

  “Were you a sailor in a previous life, do you think?”

  “Fuck off,” she mutters, but then she slips her tiny, delicate hands into mine and I slowly pull her to standing. I don’t let her go, instead I hold her steady with my strength. This is what I do for my clients but she’s different. I’ve never touched her before. I’d almost like it if a grimace didn’t make her lips curve downwards into a frown.

  “I’m up, now you can piss off.”

  “You are hurt. And you’re lying about it.”

  “I. Am. Fine.”

  “You’re not. You’re in pain. Let me check you out or you’re coming to the hospital.”

  She sighs and sags back against the table, lets go of my hands and then boosts herself up onto the surface since she’s so damned short. “It’s my hands. I put them under Trevor’s head.”

  This time I snort. “That’s dumb. He could have crushed your fingers.”

  “Or broken his skull on the concrete. I know which one I can live with.”

  I look around the room but there’s nothing soft she could have cushioned him with so I reluctantly agree she did what she thought was right. People often panic in emergencies but Jen was cool, calm and collected, holding Trevor’s neck and head straight until the collar was slipped on. Always better to be safe than sorry with a fall.

  Speaking of Trevor… “I have to get over to the hospital. I’ll need to make some phone calls and get in contact with the rehab centre.”

  “See ya,” she sings with a wave that turns into a rude two-finger gesture.

  Footsteps sound behind me and one of the sisters is standing half in, half out of the doorway. “You being difficult, brat?”

  “Not you too? I’m fine. Hand me my foot so I can leave this fucking box.”

  The sister looks to me. I shake my head and say, “I can’t leave until I know she’s better than fine.”

  “Which means?” she asks.

  “I just want to check the stump and the prosthetic, make sure neither are damaged. She takes one step on a faulty leg and she’ll faceplant.”

  “He’s not my fucking doctor, Jack.”

  “Ease up on the language, Jen,” one sister tells the other. “Church boy here doesn’t like it.”

  “I don’t really care what he likes or doesn’t like.”

  “I’m standing right here,” I remind them with a double-palm wave.

  The sister gives me a nod and starts pulling the door shut. She throws Jen a grin full of cheek. “Check her out. Take your time.”

  “You fucking traitor!” Jen yells at the closed door.

  “You do curse a lot,” I tell her. “A lot, a lot.” She opens her mouth but I stop her. “I know, piss off.”

  “This is bullshit,” she tells me, but her fingers make short work of the buttons and zip of her jeans.

  She jumps down onto one leg and drops her pants before boosting back up. One leg bunches around a hot pink sneaker for a second and I watch it hang there before it falls and she’s sitting in her…granny undies?

  I must make a sound or something. She glares at me. “It’s washing day. These were the last clean pair I had.”

  But damned if they’re not the cutest undies. She’s so petite, I bet she could wear anything and make it look cute.

  “You going to stare all day? I take it you’ve seen chicks in their underpants before, yeah?”

  The way she says underpants makes me grin. “They sure are underpants.”

  “Lucky I didn’t go commando today, I guess.”

  And now I reckon I’m blushing. She’s so brash and forward and sweary. It doesn’t bother me much. I wasn’t raised in a church. I just don’t swear much. I don’t see the need. She clearly does.

  “Why don’t you lie back?”

  “Why don’t you just do your job so I can get on with mine?”

  I sigh. “Look. I get it. We’ve not seen eye-to-eye on
anything yet but chill already. I don’t bite.”

  “No, you just hate everything about me.”

  I drop my gaze to her granny undies and say, “I don’t hate everything about you.”

  She finally gives me half a reluctant grin and lies back on the bed Trevor fell off. I lift her leg under the knee and loosen the sock, slipping it off. Her skin is a bit red and I run my fingers over the area looking for hot spots but there’s nothing to alarm me so I put it back on and lower her leg back down. “It looks good. From what I can see.” The scarring is clean which means she must have been inked before her foot came off. I can’t make out what it might have been. A tiger head maybe? Lion?

  “Told you I was okay.”

  “Want to share how it happened?”

  “I don’t know what happened. He was fine one minute, talking, laughing, then he wasn’t.”

  I pick up the prosthesis from the floor. “You’re leg. How did you lose your leg? How long ago?”

  “Oh. It’s been nearly a year. Car accident.”

  “Jesus,” I breathe.

  “Taking the lord’s name in vain? Tutt-tutt.”

  “I’m not a churchy,” I tell her.

  She raises her hands. “Hey, not judging, not really.”

  I raise both my brows back at her. “Not judging?”

  “Well,” she huffs. “No more than you judge me.”

  “I just don’t like what you do. Or the way you do it.”

  “Oh, I got that message! Loud and clear.”

  I go to help her reattach but she snatches it from my hands and says, “What’s so wrong with it?”

  “You’re basically telling them they’re ruined and they need to cover it up.”

  She stills. I sense danger.

  “What?” Her voice is pitched low and I want to take back everything I’ve said since walking into the room.

  “What did you say to me?” she repeats.

  “I think you heard me but let me expl-”

  “Get the fuck out.”

  “C’mon, Jen. I didn’t mean anything bad by it. Not really.”

  “I’m not going to ask you again. Get. Out.”