Page 5

CHAPTER FOUR

Kenzie

I push through the swinging ER doors, my hand pulsating with a sharp pain and slick with the warmth of my own blood, seeping through the towel Ambrose hastily wrapped around it.

Behind the front desk, a nurse looks up with a glance of practiced indifference that transforms into shock as her eyes land on the crimson-stained towel, the blood slowly soaking into it.

Her eyes widen with urgency. "Triage. Now."

In a blur of motion, I’m swiftly guided through the double doors to triage. The boys attempt to follow, but a nurse raises a firm hand, barring their path. "Family only."

With a mischievous grin, Braden pulls Reggie and Ambrose into a loose embrace, his voice full of playful defiance. "We’re her devoted brothers."

I can’t help but snort, shaking my head at their antics. "You are not."

The nurse raises an eyebrow, her expression a mix of curiosity and skepticism, but ultimately, she gestures for them to enter.

I’m gently placed on a narrow cot, my fingers pulsating with a fiery pain as another nurse carefully peels back the towel.

She clicks her tongue in disapproval, her eyes assessing the damage. “That macaw really did a number on you.”

She sets to work, meticulously cleaning the wound, the stinging bite of antiseptic causing a searing pain that makes me wince. Her movements are precise and practiced as she prepares the needle and sutures.

I watch her intently, then, driven by instinct, blurt out, “You might want to use a horizontal mattress stitch instead. It’ll hold better and reduce scarring.”

The nurse pauses, her eyes narrowing with a mix of amusement and challenge. “Oh? You have a medical degree I don’t know about?”

I manage a grin despite the throbbing. “No, but I do have two doctorates. One of them is in veterinary medicine.” I let out a small, pained chuckle. “I stitch things up for a living.”

She exhales heavily, a sigh of resignation mingled with respect. “Do you want to do it yourself?”

The boys sense the tension in the room and, naturally, decide this is the perfect moment to distract me from my thoughts.

Reggie leans forward with a mischievous grin plastered across his face, eyes twinkling with curiosity. “Tell me, Doc, what’s the worst injury you’ve ever had to stitch up?”

I feign deep contemplation, tapping my chin in mock thought. “A cow’s uterus,” I reply nonchalantly.

Braden nearly chokes on his laughter, eyes wide with disbelief. “I’m sorry, what?”

“C-Section,” I explain, shrugging slightly, trying not to wince as the nurse deftly sticks me with the needle. “The calf had to come out one way or another.”

Ambrose snorts, shaking his head in amusement. “And here I thought hockey players had it rough.”

Their easy banter continues, each comment light and quick like a dance that keeps the mood buoyant. But my mind drifts, my eyes flicking between them, taking in every detail.

I’m acutely aware of how incredibly attractive these guys are. I look at their broad shoulders that suggest strength and protection, their strong hands that speak of capability, and their sharp grins that hint at mischief and charm.

My overactive imagination has already cast them as the dashing leads in a romance novel so captivating it would make my mother faint. A furious blush heats my cheeks, and I jerk my focus back to the present.

Kenzie, get it together.

I chastise myself silently, but the idea of having more than one man doting on me lingers tantalizingly in the corners of my mind.

Then, like a sudden splash of icy water, the thought of my ultra-religious family crashes over me, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine.

I can almost hear my mother’s voice reverberating in my mind, clear as day. “Ke nnedy Louise Wood, are you telling me you’re entangled in a sinful arrangement with not one, but THREE men?”

The mental image is so vivid and absurd that I nearly let out a laugh, picturing her incredulous expression and the dramatic flair of her words. Yeah, that conversation would go over as smoothly as a porcupine in a balloon factory.

My parents, with their steadfast beliefs and unwavering expectations, still hold onto the illusion that I’m their pure, little veterinarian daughter who spends her spare time engrossed in the Good Book.

If they ever caught wind that I was contemplating juggling not one, but three men, they’d likely rally the entire congregation for an intervention that would rival any fiery Sunday sermon.

My moment of amusement is abruptly interrupted by a sharp, biting tug on my skin. “Ow,” I exclaim, wincing. The nurse looks up at me with a mix of patience and mild exasperation. “If you stop squirming, this will be easier,” she advises, her tone both firm and understanding.

I glance down at her work, noticing she’s stitching me up using a simple interrupted stitch rather than the horizontal mattress technique I had suggested earlier.

Unable to resist, I start, “You know, the stitch pattern…” but she cuts me off with a weary, yet affectionate tone.

“Doc, I swear, if you micromanage one more thing…” Her eyes meet mine, a silent plea for cooperation. I snap my mouth shut, biting back further commentary.

Ambrose, standing nearby, lets out a quiet chuckle, his amusement barely contained.

Reggie claps his hands together, the sound echoing in the sterile room. “So, doc, what’s the game plan? You’re going to be out of commission for a while, aye?” His voice carries a mix of concern and curiosity.

I stare down at my hand, tightly stitched and wrapped in a bandage, the reality settling in like a heavy weight on my chest. The idea of not being able to work properly at my vet clinic gnaws at me.

Suturing, bandaging, even just handling the animals, it’s all going to be a daunting challenge.

I exhale sharply, a frustrated sigh escaping my lips. “Yeah. This sucks.”

Braden, ever the optimist, flashes a wide grin. “You’ve got, what? A week or two of one-handed living? You’ll survive.” His voice is light, almost teasing.

I scowl, my brow furrowing. “You say that like I don’t run a vet clinic by myself.” The thought of my responsibilities weighs heavily on me.

Ambrose, who has been quietly observing, finally speaks up, his voice calm and steady. “You don’t have staff?”

“Just a part-time tech, but I do most of the work myself,” I reply, my voice tinged with a touch of resignation.

They all exchange a look, a silent understanding passing between them, as if they’re hatching some secret plan.

I narrow my eyes suspiciously. “What?”

“Nothing,” Reggie replies, his tone far too innocent, a mischievous glint in his eye.

The nurse finishes the stitches, the thin black sutures lying neat and snug against my skin like tiny, precise railroad tracks.

A doctor arrives, flipping through my chart with a practiced ease. He’s an older man, his round glasses perpetually sliding down his nose as he peers over them to examine my hand with a discerning eye.

“Clean stitches,” he remarks with a nod of approval.

I bite my tongue, not quite managing to hold back the retort itching to escape. "They could’ve been better if…"

Not the time, Kenzie.

The doctor types something into the chart with quick, efficient keystrokes, then fixes his gaze on me. “You’re going to need a course of antibiotics,” he informs me, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.

“Right, bird beaks are basically bacterial horror shows,” I mutter under my breath, recalling the sharp, unexpected pain of the bite.

He smirks, a small, knowing smile. “Exactly. You’ll take these for two weeks, and no skipping doses. If the wound starts getting red, hot, or swollen, come back immediately,” he instructs, his voice carrying the weight of experience and caution.

I nod, feeling grateful for the in-house pharmacy, I accept the medicine bottle.

“I mean it, Miss Wood. Bird bites aren’t something to mess with,” he emphasizes, his eyes narrowing slightly to drive home the seriousness of his words.

“I’ll be good, I promise,” I reply, my voice laced with a mix of sincerity and impatience.

Braden leans over, whispering conspiratorially to Ambrose, “Did she just lie to that doctor?”

Ambrose smirks, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “She absolutely did.”

Jerks.

The nurse returns and finishes her task, wrapping my hand. “You’ll need to keep it clean. No lifting anything heavy.” Her instructions are clear, leaving no room for compromise.

I groan, the thought of restrictions adding to my frustration.

Ambrose nudges my knee lightly with his, a reassuring gesture. “Don’t worry, Doc. We’ve got you covered.” His words are meant to comfort, though they leave me slightly apprehensive.

I raise an eyebrow, skepticism etched on my face. “I don’t even know what that means.” The uncertainty of their intentions lingers in the air.

Braden winks, a playful glint in his eye. “You’ll see.”

I don’t like that answer.

Not one bit.

I blink at them, momentarily unsure if my ears have deceived me, questioning whether I truly heard Ambrose correctly. “Got me covered? With what?” I attempt to laugh, but the sound that escapes is feeble and uncertain.

Braden stands with casual confidence, his arms crossed, and his green eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief. “Your clinic. Your workload. Your very obvious, very stubborn refusal to let anyone make your life easier.”

I roll my eyes dramatically, a sigh escaping my lips. “You guys don’t have to do that.”

Reggie leans forward, his grin widening, elbows resting on his knees in a posture of earnest persuasion. “You just admitted you’re short-staffed, your hand is full of stitches, and your entire business depends solely on you, lass .”

Ambrose, the ever-reluctant yet dependable knight in shining armor, gives a nonchalant shrug. “Seems like you could use some extra hands.”

I huff, shaking my head in disbelief. “Don’t you all have a lot going on? You’re professional hockey players, right? You all have lives of your own!”

Braden shrugs again, his expression unruffled. “Sure. But we also have time to help. And we’re offering. Unless you’d rather struggle out of pure spite?”

I glare, folding my arms across my chest defiantly. “I don’t do anything out of spite.”

“Oh, I think you do.” Ambrose’s lips curve into a teasing smirk, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

He’s not wrong, and we both know it.

"We'll take you home," Reggie declares with a decisive clap of his hands, as if sealing the deal with the sound. The finality in his voice leaves no room for argument.

I blink in surprise. "Wait, what? I can drive myself," I protest, though my voice wavers.

Ambrose fixes me with a deadpan stare, his eyes unwavering. "Can you?" he challenges, his words hanging in the air like a silent dare.

I open my mouth to respond, but the words falter on my tongue. I close it again, feeling the weight of their collective resolve pressing down on me.

Braden's grin spreads slowly across his face, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "That's what I thought," he says, his tone teasing yet affectionate.

Reggie leans in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "And when we get there, we'll whip up a good, home-cooked meal," he promises, his enthusiasm palpable.

I frown, my brow furrowing in protest. "You really don’t need to do that," I insist, though my resolve is weakening.

Braden arches an eyebrow, his expression inquisitive. "Do you have anyone waiting for you at home?" he asks, the question hanging heavily between us.

I hesitate, the truth slipping out reluctantly. "No? I mean, I wish I had a pet. I love animals, but I’m just not home enough."

Ambrose's lips curl into a smirk, his victory evident. "Good. Then you can’t really say no to us helping you," he points out, his logic irrefutable.

I groan, exasperation mingling with a touch of gratitude as I drag my good hand down my face. "You guys are impossible," I mutter, a reluctant smile tugging at my lips.

Reggie laughs, a warm, infectious sound, as he nudges my knee playfully. "Aye, but we’re charming," he retorts, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

Damn it, they are.

As soon as I’m cleared to go, they whisk me out of the hospital with an urgency that makes me feel like some kind of pampered princess being escorted from a royal engagement.

As soon as we’re settled in the car, Braden twists around in his seat with a mischievous grin. “All right, doc. What’s lurking in your fridge?” His voice carries a teasing lilt.

I blink, caught off guard. “Uh…not much,” I admit sheepishly.

Reggie lets out an exaggerated groan. “Figures,” he mutters, rolling his eyes in mock exasperation.

Ambrose, with his hands firmly gripping the steering wheel, lets out a resigned grunt. “Fine. What do you want for dinner?” His voice is a deep rumble, like distant thunder.

I shrug, glancing between them. “I don’t know. What do you guys usually make?”

Braden tilts his head thoughtfully, pondering the options. “Steak? Stir-fry? Pasta?”

At the mention of pasta, a light bulb flickers on in my mind. “Fettuccine Alfredo?” I suggest, my voice tinged with sudden eagerness.

Then, all three men respond in perfect unison, their voices ringing out with enthusiasm. “YES.”

I can’t help but laugh, a warm feeling spreading through my chest. This feels...comforting, like the embrace of an old friend.

I sink deeper into my seat, letting the gentle purr of the car engine and the smooth, rhythmic glide of the tires on the pavement lull me into a sense of calm.

Yet, beneath the surface, my thoughts drift back to last night’s dreams. Vivid images of three men, their hands, their lips, linger in my mind.

I squeeze my thighs together in a futile attempt to chase away the memory.

Fuck, I really need to get a grip.