“Well, never had a seizure before,” Blake says into the silence that follows. “That was fun.”
Colt spins and moves to the wall, rearing back and punching it in a brutal show of aggression.
I gasp and he rotates back, his knuckles bloody, dripping onto the floor.
“Honey,” I begin.
“This is not a fucking joke, Blake. This is your life and you could have died?—”
Blake’s smile fades. “Newsflash, bro,” he says in a hard tone I haven’t heard from him before. “I could have died a lot of times over the last few years. I could die tomorrow. Tonight. So if I want to fucking joke, if it’s the way I cope with the fact that this shit”—he waves a tube-laden hand around the room—“then you’re just going to have to deal.”
Colt’s chin drops forward. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
More silence.
I squeeze Blake’s shoulder then move into the bathroom, grabbing a wad of paper towels.
But when I press them to Colt’s cut knuckles, he pulls back, avoiding my eyes.
Avoiding Blake’s eyes.
“I’ll go take care of this,” he says, heading for the door.
That’s not why he’s leaving.
I can see it in the lines of his body, in his stiff, jerky movements.
He’s not going to see a nurse about his bloodied knuckles.
He’s finally hit his limit and…he’s running.
Because the trickle of blood on his hand is nothing compared to the internal hemorrhaging that’s been inflicted on him over the last few hours.
“Bro,” Blake says.
“I’ll be back,” Colt mutters, yanking open the door.
“Honey—”
The door shuts behind him.
Damn.
Blake’s eyes come back to mine. “Ky?”
“Yeah, sweetheart?” I ask, smoothing back his hair, tamping down on the urge to run after his stubborn brother.
For a few seconds, anyway.
“I know you and Colt are new but…” He pauses, a question in his eyes, and suddenly I understand exactly why Donna’s rage in the waiting room was so acute…and so fiercely directed at Colt. “Do you think I could?—?”
“Yes,” I say. “You don’t even have to ask. You want to live here, live with us”—because that’s where Colt and I are heading, even if the man I love isn’t thinking straight in this moment—“but right now—” I hitch my head to the door.
His gaze tells me he saw Colt’s panic too. “Go take care of him.” A half smile. “I’ll be here when you get back.”
I kiss his forehead. “Rest, I’ll be back soon.”
Straightening, I swipe something off the rolling table by his bed and head to the nurse’s station.
