“If you get hurt for me again, I might. Now, kneel down so I can check your head.”
The answer does little to reassure me, but I do as Wren says and let them look their fill as they part my hair to look at the cut.
“Do I need brain surgery, Dr. Wren?”
Wren kisses near the injury. “You’ll be fine. I don’t think it needs stitching, but without shaving your head, I can’t really stick a Band-Aid on it.”
“Is it bleeding?”
Wren shakes their head. “No. And it looks clean enough given how long you spent under the water.”
I stand, and their hands drop away from my skull. “Then I’ll sleep on my front.”
Wren reaches for my towel, tugging it away from my hips.
“I’m gonna need a few more minutes if you’re wanting me again.”
They pat my chest with the towel. “Just drying you off before I tuck you in bed.”
“What ifIwant to putyouto bed?”
“Dude. Remember our conversation the day when I passed out in the clubhouse. How you agreed to something like a fifty-fifty split in taking care of each other as a rolling average, and not every day. And that I should repay the favor to you some other day. Well, this is the day. Good boys who do brave things get put to bed.”
That makes me chuckle. “Can’t remember the last time I was called a good boy. Maybe when I was still in school.”
Wren walks around me, drying my arms and then back as they go. When they dip between the cheeks of my ass, I catch their eye in the mirror. “Watch what you start.”
What they did with their finger in the shower was such a turn-on. Just thinking about it is enough to stir my cock.
But the sensation of being cared for is…special. All of it.
“What do the numbers represent?” I ask, stroking my fingers across the ink on their wrist.
“The coordinates of the home me and my mom lived in.”
I lift their wrist to my lips and kiss it. “What happened to your mom? If it’s not too difficult to explain.”
“Mom was a nurse. She worked long shifts, sometimes doubles, to keep food on the table. And despite that, it felt like she was always there for me. She packed my lunches, like your mom did. Would quiz me on math while she cooked. And she was with me every step of the way when I was questioning my identity.”
There’s such a wistful tone to the way Wren speaks. “Sounds like a good person.”
Wren continues to dry me. “She was. But then, she kept getting fatigued and tired. She went to the doctor, and he said it was likely something viral. The next time, he said the same. The third time, he gave her antibiotics just to make her go away, and Mom begged him to run more tests. She told him she was a medical professional. But he dismissed her. Reminded her she wasjusta nurse, not a doctor. Then, it became recurrent chest pain. She went to urgent care twice in the month before she died. Even saw a doctor she knew there her final visit. Both times she was brushed off, told she was having anxiety attacks or panic attacks.” Wren looks up at me. “Apparently, that’s a common misdiagnosis in women. The doctor told her to try yoga and meditation even as she pleaded with him to check her heart.”
I cup their cheek when they dry my arm. “What did they miss?”
Wren sighs. “Symptoms of an aortic dissection. She had all the warning signs. It’s rare, but fatal. Mom collapsed in the kitchen while making us meatballs. Still can’t look at meatballs or eat them without feeling sick. The smell is so attached to the memory. I called 911. But by the time the paramedics arrived, it was too late. The tear had ruptured, and she died in the ambulance.”
I tug Wren to me, holding them tight. “I’m so very sorry.”
Wren stays for a moment, then steps away and points to their next tattoo. “It saysI Remainbecause I’m the only one of the two of us left. But it’s also a reminder that while Mom is gone, I need to live my life. The hourglass shows time can get ripped away from us when we least expect it, and there’s no way to get it back. It’s too precious to waste.”
“And the origami boat?”
Wren sighs and then touches it. “I watchedTale of the Nine Tailed, a K-drama. There’s a scene where the hero’s love gets taken to the afterlife on a mystical ferry. And in that moment, the hero is willing to give everything he has to get her back, even all his powers. But the boat is the point of no return. That person is never coming back. So, this represents Mom’s final journey into something I can’t follow her too, yet.”
I feel powerless and lacking right now. Because, while there are many things I can fix, this isn’t one of them. “I don’t know your mom, but I think she would like the tribute.”
“Pale pink and blue were her favorite colors, which is why I used them on the boat. We used to laugh at the irony of those choices being so utterly gendered while I’m a rainbow.”
