by M. Tasia
“Are you the contractor?” Finn asked.
“Yes.”
“Oh thank god. We need your help.” That got Max’s attention.
“What’s wrong?” he asked as Miguel walked back into the office. The man seemed to have a sixth sense for trouble. “Where’s Dr. Jeffrey?”
“Trying to turn off the water before we need a boat.” Now it sounded as if the kid was carrying something as his voice strained.
“We’re on our way.”
“I’ll leave the back door open,” Finn’s voice was rushed. Then he was gone.
“A pipe may have burst. We’ll go check it out,” Max explained as he grabbed his bag and keys before heading out the door. “I have tools locked in the back of the truck.”
His friend didn’t argue and followed Max out of the shop.
Max chalked up his panic to the thought of the damage being done to the building and nothing more.
***
Saint could feel the tearing burn of his abdominal muscles as they stretched around his wound. He threw his entire weight against the pry bar he was using in an attempt to make the seized water safety valve budge. A pipe had let go in the wall of the hub and he knew Finn was trying to save as much as he could from their belongings. The kid had tried to help with the pry bar, and, well…he had a big heart, but, unfortunately, not muscles.
Saint’s hands ached from trying to hold the bar while shoving his shoulder into it, trying to turn the old valve. He didn’t have time for the pain. If he didn’t get this shut off, the damage to the building would be extensive.
Footsteps could be heard running in his direction moments before Max came into the old utility room at the back of the building. He seemed to assess the situation in seconds, pulled out what looked like a thick hammer, and began hitting the rusted metal of the gate valve, trying to break the decrepit seal.
At first, Saint thought it was his imagination, but the pry bar started to move, slowly at first but it was moving. Max came to Saint’s side and helped push the pry bar until the valve was finally closed. The rush of pain washed over him as his legs gave out, sending him to his knees.
He concentrated on his breathing. Basic shit: in…out, in…out. He could handle this. He’d felt worse in the past six months, but even he had to admit it would take a couple days’ rest to get over this one. Large hands reaching beneath his armpits reminded Saint that he wasn’t alone. Max.
Saint turned his head. “What are you doing here?” The words flew out of his mouth more in shock than anger, but by the look on the man’s face Saint had done it again. “Sorry.”
He didn’t miss the surprise on Max’s face, making Saint wonder if the man thought he was a complete asshole. Well, I have yelled at him twice now.
“Are you hurt?”
“No, I don’t think I have any new injuries.”
“New injuries? Want to fill me in on the others? Because you look ready to pass out.”
“I’ll be fine,” Saint answered as he tried to stand. His struggle embarrassed him. He was nearly six foot four and pushing two hundred fifty, most of it muscle, and he couldn’t even stand.
Max hauled him up, helping Saint to get back to his feet. Unfortunately, his head began to spin and he could hear Max’s gruff voice calling for someone. Who else was in his home…building?
A big guy came barreling in with Finn in tow. Hell, this dude was the tallest person in the room. “What do you need?”
“An ambulance,” Max answered. “We have to get Dr. Jeffrey to the hospital.”
“Saint,” he growled out. “I’m not a doctor anymore.”
“I doubt you’re anything near saintly, but fine…Saint. You’re going to the hospital to get checked out.”
“I’ll be fine. I need to rest. That’s all. What were you able to save, Finn?” Change of subject completely acceptable.
“I was having trouble carrying a few things but once Miguel got here we were able to save a good bit. The hub, however, is a lost cause.”
“Damn,” Saint said as he tried to take a step forward only to be caught by Max. “Maybe I should sit down.”
Max threw his arm around Saint’s back while Miguel came over and unceremoniously lifted him off the ground. “Where can we go?”
“My office, please,” Saint ground out between his clenched teeth.
They were on the move before the last syllable was out of his mouth, Finn leading the way. Saint concentrated on his breathing again as the world blurred around him. Soon he felt the worn cushion of his chair cradling his sore body. He could do this.
“Do you need anything, boss?” Finn asked nervously as the bigger guy stood right behind him.
“A bottle of water would be great.”
“On it,” Finn replied and left the room, Miguel on his tail. He’d have to watch that guy around young Finn.
“Are you going to tell me what is hurting you?”
“Are you going to tell me why you’re here?”
“I called. Finn answered and asked for help.”
“You called.” Saint couldn’t help the hope in his voice and kicked himself for it. “Why?”
“You’re the one who wanted to meet again.”
“That was days ago. I thought you weren’t going to bother.”
“Well, I can’t let you hire any idiot. You have to respect this place. It’s been here before us and will be here after.”
Saint couldn’t help but smile. “Exactly.”
Max smiled back, and damn. “Exactly.” Saint couldn’t look away from those sparkling green eyes, at least until Finn and Miguel walked back in. “They’re outside, Max.”
“Let them in,” Max instructed.
Saint straightened in his chair, all warm fuzzies gone. “Wait. Let who in?”
“The paramedics.”
“I told you I didn’t need an ambulance.” The betrayal turned his already painful stomach.
“I would never forgive myself if you’re injured and I didn’t do something to help.”
Saint knew his face said it all when Max no longer looked him in the eyes. Saint had spent too much time in hospitals already. No way had he wanted to go back. He’d spent years under someone else’s control and he’d be damned if he allowed that to happen again either.
“Get out.”
Chapter Four
Even though he’d been told to leave, here he sat like a sap in the waiting room. Max was seriously beginning to wonder if there was something wrong with him because obviously he was a glutton for punishment. He’d left the room when Saint had asked, but only went as far as the wall outside the office doorway.
Three. Three gunshot wounds. What the hell? Max knew about violence, he’d grown up in the middle of it, but the guy didn’t look like he ran in those circles. There’d be no way in hell Grandma Rose would ask him to help Saint if he was a criminal.
Saint. Who the hell called themselves Saint?
“Mr. Connor?” A nurse came in calling his name.
“Here.”
“You’ll be able to see him now, but Mr. Jeffrey is going to be feeling the effects of the painkillers for the next several hours,” she explained as she led him past room after room until they came to one with the lighting turned down low. “The doctor will be in shortly.”
Okay, yeah, he may have lied to the emergency room staff at the hospital when he told them he and Saint were partners. Finn had told Max that Saint had no family in California, and for some unknown reason Max couldn’t walk away. Which was frustrating as hell.
He walked into the room and pushed the curtain out of the way. Saint lay with his eyes closed on a small gurney. The white gauze covering his hands reminded Max of the dark, fingerless gloves that Saint had been wearing. He would have never guessed they were protecting such horrible wounds.
“I thought I told you to leave.” Saint’s weak voice surprised Max. He was used to the gruff, angry, vibrant man he’d met that first day.
“You did
.”
“Then why are you still here?”
“My mom says I’m bad at taking direction.”
The corner of Saint’s lip twitched, not quite a smile, but it was something. The drape was pulled aside, and the doctor—it said Adesh Patel, MD on the pocket of the white coat the guy wore—walked in. Seriously, was he old enough to be out of medical school?
“Dr. Jeffrey.”
“Saint,” Max and the still-scowling man in the bed said in unison.
“Okay, Saint,” the doctor stated without looking up from his tablet. “You haven’t reinjured yourself but you have sent your recovery back at least a month, if not more. Your body needs time to heal. We wrapped your hands and abdomen to help prevent you from any further injury. We’ll be able to release you as long as you have a caregiver.”
“Finn will help me.”
Max almost sputtered, “You can’t go back to the building now. The guys haven’t had a chance to clean up the damage. And Finn is not able to take care of you.”
The doctor finally looked up as he spoke. “Then we’ll admit you for a few days.”
Saint glared at Max. “Christ. Do you hate me? I apologized and you’re still fucking up my life. I’m not staying here. I’ll check myself out against doctor’s orders so fast it will make your head spin.”
Jesus, this guy was a tough nut to crack. Max had met porcupines more agreeable. “You can come out to the farm with me. It will give you a couple days to get yourself back on your feet and the guys time to clean up.”
“Why would I want to go anywhere with you?” Saint looked confused. Max preferred it to his scowl.
“Because at the moment I’m all you got.”
Saint seemed to be considering his options and he didn’t look happy, once again. “Fine. But I’ll need my stuff.”
Max couldn’t help the grin on his face when he pointed at the bag on the chair beside Saint’s bed that Finn and Miguel had brought by earlier. “Done.”
“I can’t leave Finn alone with all that mess.”
“Miguel is with him. I’ve called a few of my guys to come by in the morning to begin cleanup and to have a good look around the property.”
“I haven’t hired you.” Fighting to the bitter end.
“You called me back. We both know that the building will get butchered if anyone else touches it.” Max noticed the pain that thought brought to Saint’s face. “Do we have a deal?”
“I haven’t okayed any work to be done. I want to be there to handle those decisions,” Saint demanded. Max was getting the picture. Control freak.
“Miguel and the guys will be cleaning up the damage and assessing the building. No other work will be undertaken,” Max assured and went one step further. “Hell, you haven’t paid us anything yet and I don’t work for free.”
Saint’s lip twitched again and then it was gone. Max was getting used to the mask Saint chose to wear. The one that told the world to stay far the fuck away.
Saint let out a deep breath before admitting defeat. “Fine.”
“Wow, don’t let me put you out with my generosity,” Max shot back before looking at the doctor, who had suddenly forgot he had a tablet and was staring at them with interest. “Can you check him out as soon as possible? I don’t want to have to hear him whining for hours.”
The doctor laughed but nodded before he left through the same slit in the privacy curtain.
“Why?” Saint asked without looking at him.
“Why what?” Max couldn’t help himself. The guy’s buttons were too easy to push.
“You damn well know what I’m asking. What do you want?”
Max couldn’t help but smile. Those were the same words Saint had used when they first met and his answer was still the same. “I. Want. Nothing,” before continuing with, “Maybe a good therapist to figure out why the hell I’m helping you.”
There it was again, the slight twitch in the corner of Saint’s lush lips. Lush lips?
“Then let’s get this show on the road,” Saint ordered before trying to sit up without success.
“Do you need help?” Max asked as he took a step toward the bed.
“No,” Saint replied before making another attempt. This time he groaned with pain, which had Max rushing to the stubborn man’s side.
“Do you always have to make things difficult?” Max asked as he helped Saint sit up on the side of the gurney.
“Well, you’re not the only one bad at taking direction.” Saint used Max’s own words against him, and there was no hiding the small smile on his face.
“Now that, I believe.” Max laughed before grabbing Saint’s bag and heading for the door. “Come on. We have a good drive a head of us.” He didn’t look back. Max could tell Saint didn’t like to show weakness. He understood that.
Sure enough, when Max reached the nurses’ station, Saint was right beside him.
This was going to be a long weekend.
***
Where did I go wrong? Well, admittedly he had gone wrong a few times in his life, but more specifically the question focused on the last twelve hours. Saint stared up at the shadows dancing across the ceiling of a spare bedroom in the house located on the Connor family’s hobby farm. Was he insane? He really didn’t know Max and had yelled at him both times they’d met. Max could be a serial killer for all Saint knew. Was he in such a hurry to die?
Yeah, and the sweet, elderly grandmother is the ringleader. Saint shook his head, disgusted by his own thoughts. When had he become as cynical as his father? He wasn’t like this before his life had blown up. Surely, the combination of his father’s influence, and what had happened during that last aid mission, tipped Saint over the edge. Yeah, and now I’m running for asshole of the year.
Saint thought back to where it all began when he was a small child. His mom crouched in her orchid gardens, clutching him and his brother, Johnny, tight in her arms. The pounding in the house was broken by the occasional smash of glass. Their father had lost his shit once again and they were hiding out until he calmed down. It wasn’t the first and it was fucking far from the last time, but that day had changed Saint’s life forever.
He could hear his mom’s tearful plea as if she were standing beside him now. “Saint, you must protect your little brother when I’m not here.” Prescient? Or resigned? She died six months later.
Slowly, Saint turned to his side. There was no use replaying old memories. It wouldn’t get him anywhere, and it sure as hell wouldn’t change anything. All that mattered was that he’d kept his promise. Johnny had been given the opportunity for freedom. Saint had guaranteed that when he signed his deal with the devil. Using Lucifer to describe his father didn’t seem fair to the fallen angel, but what was done, was done. Saint had signed his life over to his father’s control and Johnny was free of the lunatic’s anger, greed, meddling, control, and money.
Saint loved his brother and would do it all again. Johnny didn’t have the fight in him Saint had. Their father would have killed his brother’s beautiful spirit as sure as Saint was pulling air into his lungs. Johnny was his only family now. Their beautiful mother had been gone for many long years, and their father… I don’t give a shit about my father.
Pain shot through his abdomen, reminding him that his escape from their father’s control had cost more than Saint had been prepared to bargain away. Useless, broken, idiot, embarrassment, and worthless were some of the words that his father had used to describe Saint since his trip to Venezuela to perform surgeries in a small clinic near the border with Colombia. They had been a team of half a dozen souls committed to working in dangerous conditions, but only three made it out.
He rolled over onto his back and reached for the water bottle Max’s mother, Alejandra, had given him before showing him to his room. Imagine his shock when he’d opened his weary eyes to find this petite woman staring at him through the passenger window. After he’d checked in with Finn to confirm he was fine with the arrangements, Saint had sle
pt most of the drive to Temecula.
The moment he cracked open his door the woman attacked. Well, with hugs and fussing like he hadn’t seen since before his own mom died. Saint wasn’t sure how to take it, but he wasn’t in a hurry to brush it away either. Emotions. Such a complication. He turned his mind to his building. He would bring it back to life and save what others viewed as worthless. Yeah, he was living his recovery through refurbishing a structure. Excellent coping skills, dude.
His eyes slowly closed as he let out a deep breath and sank into the comfortable mattress. Saint’s half dreamy thoughts lingered on the building and imagining all the people who had come and gone over the century. The pomp and pageantry of its heyday: flappers and bootleggers, service members, movie stars, railway workers and oil tycoons, all under the same roof. Different decades sure, but still the building remained.
He would make sure that continued to happen.
***
Saint couldn’t breathe. The air had been knocked out of him with the last blow. The thick jungle swallowed his cries and that of the other doctors and nurses. The metallic taste of his own blood filled his mouth and was the only liquid he’d swallowed in days. Their captors weren’t concerned about dehydration among their prisoners.
“Hold his hand,” the one wearing all the medals ordered, and Saint was dragged over to a log. His left hand was held out over the wood as Saint’s blood mixed with the mud he was sinking into. “You think you can come here and do whatever you want.”
Saint would soon regret his next statement. “We were helping women and children.”
“Helping. Some American doctor thinks he can save the world.” The leader raised the gun he had clipped to his belt and fired one shot through the palm of Saint’s hand. “Now you help no one.”
Saint’s ears were ringing, he knew he had to be screaming but the sound inside his head didn’t register. Hands grabbed at his shoulders and he tried to fight them off, but without the use of his hands, and the pain from the hole in his stomach, it was no use.
“Saint. Saint, wake up.” Max’s voice pierced the fog surrounding him. “It’s okay, you’re safe.”
Safe. Lies. I’ll never be safe.