His clean, bare skin and my tainted blood.
“Let me see,” Rush said gently as he began to close his fingers over my hand.
“Don’t!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. I yanked my hand away from him and stepped back and promptly slipped on something wet. Probably my own blood.
“Christopher, it’s okay,” Rush said calmly like he was talking to an enraged toddler. He reached for me again even though I’d managed to catch myself on the counter.
“No, don’t,” I repeated. But his hand kept up its forward movement, and the warning was out of my mouth before I could even consider the consequences.
“Rush, don’t touch my blood! My viral count isn’t undetectable yet!”
CHAPTER FIVE
RUSH
Despite all the personal issues I’d had with the military, in that moment I had to admit to being grateful for every ounce of training they’d drilled into me because that discipline and focus were the only things that made it possible to both process Christopher’s words and to react to them appropriately.
“You could have microscopic cuts on your fingers,” Christopher said in a rush. “You can’t touch me.”
I put my hands up to show Christopher I wasn’t going to. His relief was palpable.
“Put your hand under the water,” I ordered before striding out of the kitchen. It didn’t take me long to find what I was looking for because it was still sitting in the same place in the living room that it had been the day before.
Christopher’s medical kit.
I snatched the thing off the floor and hurried back to the kitchen.
During those thirty seconds, the reality of what the young man had told me hit me like a ton of bricks.
He’s HIV positive.
A soul-crushing sadness began to wash over me, but I forced it away. The last thing Christopher needed was pity. If and when he needed a shoulder to lean on, I’d be first in line, but for now, I needed to focus on the immediate problem.
“How does it look?” I asked as I returned to the kitchen. Christopher jumped.
“You’re still here,” he said in genuine surprise.
“Um, yeah, where did you think—”
I stopped abruptly when I realized what it was he’d been thinking. That I’d left him because of what he’d told me.
I practically slammed the medical kit down on the counter next to the sink. “We’re going to talk about that later,” I said stiffly as I searched out the latex gloves I was hoping to find.
As I worked them on, Christopher said, “Rush, you don’t have to. The cut’s not that bad, so I can handle it by myself.”
I ignored his words as I rummaged around the kitchen for a clean towel. As soon as I found one, I returned to his side and muttered, “I guess you’ve been doing a lot of that these days, haven’t you?”
As much as I’d tried to keep the anger out of my voice, I hadn’t been totally successful. I had no doubt at all that he hadn’t told anyone in his family what was going on. He, who had one of the most supportive and loving families I’d ever met, hadn’t leaned on them when he’d needed to the most.
His physical state made more sense now as well. The stress alone would have explained the weight loss and haggard appearance, but it could also just as easily be the illness or any medications he was taking to combat it.
He’d said his viral count wasn’t undetectable yet, which meant he was likely taking medication, but if it wasn’t working, then he could very well be past the point…
My stomach dropped out violently, but I just as quickly shook my head.
No. Not happening. Not him.
I forced myself to focus on the problem at hand. I turned the water off and then gently pulled Christopher’s hand toward me and pressed the dish towel against it to add pressure. It didn’t take long for blood to seep through the fabric. That in itself was telling, but I pulled the towel back for a moment to confirm what I already suspected.
“It’s going to need stitches,” I said on a sigh.
Christopher merely nodded like he already knew.
I went and grabbed another dish towel and swapped it out with the bloodstained one. “Put pressure on this,” I instructed. I found a roll of bandaging in the kit, so I used that to secure the towel to Christopher’s hand. Christopher was silent throughout all of it, but I didn’t miss his wince when I had to add pressure to the wound by tightening the bandaging. “Sorry,” I heard myself whisper each time he did it. By the time it was done, I wasn’t sure who was more relieved, him or me.
“Come on, I’ll drive you to the hospital,” I said as I removed the gloves and tossed them in the garbage.
“It’s okay, I can get an Uber or something,” Christopher responded. He turned his back on me and went to the drying rack to remove the large knife he’d cut his hand on. “No wonder my uncle always put the blades down in the dishwasher,” he said flatly. He put the knife in the sink and then reached into the cabinets below.