“Right,” I reply as I check on the chicken. “You’re right. Have a good day.”
“See you,” she says with a wave and grabs her travel mug full of coffee, then walks out to the garage.
When I finish putting my dinner together, I carry it into the living room and turn on the TV, flipping through the DVR recordings until I find the show I’ve been watching. I hit play for last night’s episode.
Maybe some Montana cowboys will keep my brain occupied.
Two hours and a tub of ice cream later, I turn off the TV and set my dirty dishes in the dishwasher, then make my way to my bedroom.
Maddie has the main bedroom with a huge closet and en suite bathroom.
I don’t care at all that my bedroom is smaller. I mostly own scrubs anyway. What do I need a big closet for? Even the smaller hall bath suits me fine.
After a quick shower, I pull the black-out blinds on the windows and burrow down into the covers, exhausted.
And then, the phone rings.
“Shit, I forgot to put it on do not disturb,” I mutter, reaching over for my cell and frowning when I see my dad’s name on the screen. “Hey, Dad. What’s up?”
“Are you sleeping?”
“Not yet.”
“I need your help. I cut my hand pretty good, and your mother insists that I need stitches.”
I sigh and push the covers off me. “I’ll grab my stuff and be on my way in just a second. Cover it and apply pressure so you stop the bleeding.”
“Yeah, I am. It’s probably not that bad.”
“I’ll be there in a few.”
I disconnect and sigh. I’m so tired, but he’s my dad. I’d do anything for him.
Caleb Montgomery isn’t my biological father, but he adopted my sister and me when he married our mom and is my father in every way that matters. I love him more than just about anyone in the world.
I change into jeans and a sweatshirt, grab my kit that has all my first-aid supplies in it, and set off to Mom and Dad’s place. Because of the time of day, I make it in about twenty minutes.
“Hello?” I call out after walking into the house.
“Back here,” Mom yells back.
They’re in the kitchen, standing over the sink, and Dad has a green kitchen towel pressed to the back of his hand.
At least, I think it used to be green—it’s pretty red with blood right now.
“What happened?” I ask as I set my bag on the table and cross to him.
“I was making a table and had an incident with the saw.”
“On the back of your hand?”
“I’m talented,” he says with a wink.
I pull the towel away and then cover it again, jerking back a bit in surprise.
“Geez, Dad, you cut the hell out of this. I’d say you should go to the urgent care to see if they need to stitch you up.”
“Told you,” Mom says brightly. “I wanted to take him to urgent care, but he just grunted.”
Dad’s eyes narrow on my mom, and I can only shake my head.
He may try to seem intimidating—and as a former Navy SEAL, he is intimidating to most. But he’s a huge softie with us.
“Not going to the damn urgent care. Just fix it up, and it’ll be fine.”
I blow out a breath and then nod.
“Give me five to get my stuff together.”
“Do you want something to eat?” Mom asks.
“No, thanks, I had dinner. Okay, hold still. It might hurt a little.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine. It’s a hell of a cut.”
“It’s fine,” Dad repeats and shakes his stubborn head. “Just get it done so I can go back to work.”
Patching him up takes about twenty minutes. He hardly makes a peep at all, and I know for a fact that it must hurt like a son of a bitch.
When I’m done, I kiss his cheek. “You have to clean this daily. I’ll check in on you, too.”
“I’ll be fine,” he says, but I shake my head at him.
“No, you stubborn man, you do not want this to get infected. The last time I checked, you didn’t have an RN after your name. Stop being bullheaded and take advantage of the fact that your favorite daughter is a nurse.”
“I don’t think I raised my kids to speak to me this way.”
I smirk and kiss him on the cheek. “I love you.”
“That’s better.”
“Are you sure you don’t want something to eat? What about a candy bar?” Mom asks.
“Nah, I’m good. I’m going home to sleep. I have to work tonight. Be careful with that hand.”
“Yeah, yeah. You sure are bossy,” Dad says.
“I learned from you.”
“You’re staring off into space.”
I blink when my co-worker, Beth, nudges my shoulder.
“I got roughly three hours of sleep today,” I reply with a yawn. “But this is my Friday.”
“Lucky. It’s my Monday.”