Ant and Erik appear, looking like they bathed with their clothes on. Nacho comes in from the back with the kid under his arm.
“Hopper’s outside playing with the dogs. I’m taking this little one to the maternity ward. Y’all need anything?” Nacho asks, avoiding my eyes.
“A stiff drink,” I mutter before realizing who I’m talking to. “Uh…sorry, Ignacio.”
His eyes finally make their way to mine. I mouthI’m so sorryat him, and his warm chuckle is the small bit of magic I need in that moment.
“Don’t worry about it…Dr. Barlowe.”
I breathe a little easier.
Ant looks between the two of us, rolling his eyes. “Those are your sex names for each other. That’s gross.”
I raise my brow at him, and he mirrors the gesture.
Erik places his hand on Ant’s shoulder. “Hey, why don’t we get out of here and leave them to it?”
Ant looks at Erik’s hand and takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Oh—okay.”
I flick a look over to Charlie, and he’s shaking his head. This whole night has been a fucking disaster from top to bottom.
Anders, ignoring everyone, begins to examine the wound, which…okay, actually isn’t all that bad.
“Hm. He got lucky with this tiny bit of extra padding. It prevented the bullet from getting too far into the muscle. I’d’ve been dead on the spot.” He laughs, twisting his hips to show off his trim waist.
Pushing my tongue against my bottom lip, I shoot him a look that melts the smile right off his face.
“Damn. Tough room.” Moving on, he points to the bag with his elbow. “I need the curved sixteen-millimeter needle, and there are two types of thread. I’ll need both of them.”
“You thinking two layers, dissolving and non?” I ask, having spent a fair amount of time around an ER.
I’m briefly reminded of all the times I was called to help with a hysterical family member and wonder if Anders has any Valium in that bag of his. I probably could’ve used some a few minutes ago.
“Yeah. It’s deep in a couple of spots, but not too bad.”
“But he’s going to be okay?”
“Absolutely.”
You know what? I believe him this time.
“Don’t fuck up his tattoo,” I say, unable to leave well enough alone.
Anders’ jaw tightens.
“Sorry,” I mumble, then step back.
Anders goes to work on my brother, cleaning the wound before going in with the needle and thread. I watch, fascinated by his layers of quick, precise stitches. He’s finished in no time, and the complex geometric patterns that converge on Levy’s torso are perfectly aligned. I mumble another quick apology.
“No worries, man. If you think you’re bad when your brother gets hurt, you’ve got nothing on me. I’ve been known to go ham on people who’ve hurt Odd, and if I didn’t know how to fix him myself, I’d be an absolute nightmare for medical personnel.”
“Thanks, Anders. Even if you’re just saying that to make me feel better.”
He chuckles and pats my shoulder. “We’re good, dude.”
We let Levy rest on the table while Charlie calls in arrangements for the women in the warehouse. It all feels very Margaret Atwood.
While we had originally planned to bring whoever we found to the convent with the other people who were caught up in this ring, the pregnancies change everything.
