Love Binds by Cynthia St. Aubin

Author:Cynthia St. Aubin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Oliver-Heber Books

10

I cradled his limp body, his skin so hot I had to shift him for fear of blistering myself.

“Hayden?”

He made no answer.

Dark lashes feathered against his pale cheek, his narrow chest rose in shallow increments.

That was good, at least.

The breathing.

Slight as he was, there was still no way I could carry him. I glanced around the alley and spotted a tarp covering the neatly stacked cord of wood behind the Dusty Dahlia. Once a simple teashop, they had recently added smoked brisket sandwiches to their menu. Much to my and Abernathy’s carnivorous delight.

Releasing the bungee cords that held it in place, I shook the tarp out and brought it down to the alley, where I succeeded in rolling Hayden onto it. I dragged him into the gallery and managed to wrestle him onto the chaise in Steven Franke’s currently unoccupied studio. Raiding his mini-fridge, I pulled out an A&W cream soda and pressed it against Hayden’s coal-hot forehead. The condensation on the can sizzled as it made contact.

“Hayden?” I pressed my hand against his cheek and instantly drew it back.

“What happened?” Abernathy’s thundering voice filled me with equal parts relief and dread. The relief: Something older and bigger than me had arrived to deal with this. The dread: Something older and bigger than me had arrived to deal with this.

“I was attacked, but Hayden stopped him!” The words blurted out of me in a rush.

“What?” Abernathy demanded. “Attacked by what? And how do you know it was a him?”

“It was a raccoon! At least, I think it was a raccoon but it’s hard to tell without the fur. It jumped out of the trashcan and attacked me and also its balls were in my face and it tore out a clump of my hair.” I brought a hand to the area of my scalp that still smarted and was not at all comforted when it came away with a dime-sized smear of tacky blood.

Abernathy’s face could have doubled for a mausoleum door. “Again?”

Dear reader. I ask you. I implore you. Who, when receiving the information that his significant other had been the victim of a raccoon attack wherein balls-to-face action was mentioned has ever had to utter the word again?

Abernathy.

That’s who.

God send him deep-fried cheesecakes for life.

“Yes, again. But then Hayden horked a fireball at him and then he fainted.”

“The raccoon?” Abernathy asked, pinching the bridge of his noble nose.

“Hayden. Jesus, Mark. Can you at least try to keep up?”

Now it was Mark’s turn to look like someone had just hiked a knee into his coinsack. “The point is—”

“Snecks,” a wavery, brittle voice croaked.

Abernathy and I glanced over to the chaise in concert, where Hayden smiled weakly, his eyelids pale as milk. A wave of relief surged through me like the first warm spring breeze.

“I’m on it!” I sprinted through the gallery and up the stairs, yanking open my drawer and cramming as much as I could carry into my arms. Cradling my treasure, I scurried back as quickly as I could, chips falling like rose petals in my wake.

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