Trip:Sam and I rushed home as soon as we heard. I was about to head out to the hospital and was told that you're already back home.
Trip:How’s Colt?
I type a quick response.
Joaquin:He's okay. Only a minor burn across his cheek, and he’ll have to regrow half an eyebrow.
Joaquin:Honestly, the worst of it is the exhaustion from smoke inhalation.
Joaquin:About to make him lie down for a few hours.
Trip:Sounds like a plan. I'll stop by later on to visit if you think that's a good idea.
Joaquin:I think he'd appreciate that.
“Can you make it up the stairs?” I ask, kissing Colt’s temple.
He rolls his eyes. “I'mfine. I need a shower and a nap, but I'll be okay.”
Wick shakes his head. “You’re off for at least the next two days.” He looks at me and grimaces. “Sorry, boss. Habit.”
I'm already nodding my head. “No, I was going to say the same thing. At least two days.”
“You two are acting like a bunch of mother hens. It looked way more dramatic than it was.”
Wick and I look at each other and then stare down the man who gave us a heart attack.
“Excuse me?” I say, my brow up near my hairline. “Were you not in a building that was actively burning to the ground, with support beams and the roof caving in around you?”
“Well, yeah…”
“Did you or did you not almost lose consciousness due to smoke inhalation?”
He shrugs. “Y'all were there. It was fine.”
Wick smacks Colt upside the head.
“Hey!Ouch.”
Wick smacks him again. “You almost fucking died. If we hadn’t gone in after you, you would have.”
Colt’s expression shifts and his eyes go a little shiny. “I know,” he admits, his voice soft.
I shake my head. “Oye, that's it. I don't know about you two, but I need some together time. We’re going to all clean up because we smell like we’ve been sitting by a campfire for hours, and then we’re lying down. Together.In my room.”
No one argues with me, and I lead the way. We squeeze into the shower, Wick and I running sudsy hands over Colt’s skin and hair before quickly attending to ourselves. The grayish-black water going down the drain is another reminder of how close we came to tragedy today.
I can’t stand to think of it.
After drying him and ourselves off, we put Colt in the middle of the bed, then surround him. Careful of the small burn on his cheek, Wick and I cuddle up on either side of him, resting our heads on his chest as he surrounds us in his arms.
“I swear, y’all are being so dramatic,” he complains with a yawn.
“Shut up,” I say, looking into Wick’s eyes. There’s a conversation we need to have, but I’m willing to accept his being here as proof of progress.
“Yeah, shut up,” Wick says, reaching across Colt’s broad chest to kiss me. Like maybe he knows I need the reassurance.
“Wait. I don't get kisses?” Colt’s ask is more of a pout, and I know he’s doing it to let us know he’s okay.
