In the barn office, David concentrated on stitching Marcus’s wound closed. His work was evenly-spaced, tidy. Even stitching up cattle on his father’s ranch and now the horses at the equine hospital, David took his time.
I’m just being extra careful. Don’t want to leave a scar.
The words felt bitter, false.
He smoothed on the antibiotic cream. Its medicinal smell mixed with the Dial on Marcus’s skin. David noticed the stubble on his scalp was probably three days long. Marcus kept his head down.
“You’re gonna have a bruise the size of South America. All done,” David said.
Marcus’s shoulders were tensed, trembling. His left arm was braced on the corner of the desk.
“Marcus? You’re not having a reaction to the Lidocaine, are you?” One of David’s sharpest fears: he’d once watched a Bra
