Page 15 of Constantly Cotton
Cotton captured his hand at his cheek. “Poor hero,” he corrected. “And super sick hero to boot. I’m going to get you your medication, and maybe another sponge bath, but we need to get your fever down before you worry about touch, okay?”
Jason nodded, and his eyes closed like he couldn’t keep them open.
“Dream about you, angel.”
Cotton closed his eyes, thinking about the kind of man who would do what Jason Constance did for a living. He was a sin-eater, someone who cleaned up the sins of others, allowed the government to function without the onus of facing what they’d done. He’d gotten hurt trying to save a busload of children—but also trying to save his own government from committing one more sin.
That kind of man didn’t need a nonfunctional porn star in his life.
“Dream about someone better,” he murmured, but he wasn’t sure if he was talking about Jason or himself.
TWO HOURSlater, he was less worried about being good enough for Jason’s dreams and more worried about Jason’s body holding out long enough for himtodream.
The fever wasn’t going down. He’d given all the medication Lance had left, but Jason’s fever was still raging, and the wounds—particularly the one on his side—were swollen and red. He knew Lance was giving him antibiotics, but obviously he needed something stronger.
He texted Henry, because they were all trying not to get Lance in trouble, and Henry was worried enough to leave work to stop by, Jackson at his heels.
Jackson had taken one look at the wounds and scowled.
“Okay, we need to clean these some more, and it’s going to hurt. Henry, go to the store across the street and fetch some more hydrogen peroxide and some of those scrub brushes that people use on their nails. Cotton, start a pot of water boiling so we can sterilize them. Lance left his scalpel, so as soon as Henry gets back, I’m going to lance the infection here and let it drain. It’s going to be super gross, but it might let his body fight the infection if it’s not all clotted up in there.”
“Is that real medicine or hoping for the best?” Cotton asked, not sure himself.
“Little of both,” Jackson told him frankly. “But if it makes you feel better, Lance was the one who said the wound might have to be punctured. He also said that you can give him the extra dose of painkiller and antibiotics ahead of time. Lance is bringing home the super powerful antibiotics to take their place but we need to tend to him first.”
Cotton nodded, thinking he was glad—so glad—he wasn’t going to be the one who had to scrub at Jason’s infected flesh and poke a hole in him when he already felt like crap. He just had to run around and keep the supplies stocked and get rid of the trash. He was good at all of that other stuff, but inflicting pain he wasn’t sure he could do.
They ran around: Henry to go get supplies, Cotton to prep to make sure they had a sterile tray—one of their large dinner plates that they’d passed through the dishwasher recently—with a sterilized scalpel, some clamps, some gauze fresh out of the package for wiping the wound down, and a pad and tape to bind it. When Henry got there, they boiled the scrub brush for two minutes before Jackson had everyone put on a fresh set of gloves and they got down to business.
Henry picked cleanup duty, and they both told Cotton that his job was to hold Jason’s hand and keep him calm.
“Is that really a job?” he asked, feeling stupid and useless.
“Since we don’t have any anesthetic, it’s the most important fucking job we’ve got,” Jackson said, voice low and terse with urgency. “He’s going to try to move, and you calm him down. Tell him what we’re doing so he doesn’t have to concentrate on anything besides keeping still.”
“We do have some of that lidocaine that Henry made us buy,” Cotton said. “The kind in the aloe gel. Would that help?”
Jackson blinked. “Henry, go get that shit.” He looked at Cotton. “Absolutely,” he said. “If nothing else, it will makemefeel better because we’re not simply attacking him in the sore side without a barrier.”
“Goddammit,” Henry muttered. “I’m going to have to glove up again.”
“Since you are,” Jackson told him, “maybe push the bed out a little from the wall. I can barely fit in here.”
Cotton gave a little laugh. “You weren’t supposed to, Jackson. The bed’s supposed to be flush. You sort of bulldozed your way in there.”
Jackson gave him a tense smile. “Having a scrawny ass has its uses.”
A few minutes later they were situated again, but this time Jason’s wounds had been thoroughly numbed and cleaned. Jason only mumbled a little as Jackson had attacked them with a scrub brush and hydrogen peroxide, opening his eyes to a slit.
“Angel, they’re hurting me.”
“Baby, they have to. Your hurts are making you sick.”
“Okay. Okay. Do what you gotta.”
Cotton gripped his hand, the one with the IV tube, and smoothed a cool cloth over his forehead. “God, Jackson, I think he’s getting hotter.”
“Well then, it’s time for the big guns.” Jackson made a sound in his throat that was suspiciously like gagging, but it was over so quickly Cotton thought he must have imagined it. “Henry, I’m going to go through a whole lot of gauze here. Be ready to get it off the bed and away.”