“Oxley,” he says. “I’ll never drug you again. I’m so, so sorry.”
Sleep takes me quickly.
4
OXLEY
He looks so small.I’m concerned about his color. On the shelf behind the bed, I have the medical dictionary open so I can monitor all his vitals on the machine, making sure that they stay where they’re supposed to. But it tells me that his color should be better by now.
Mark says his body has gone through a lot of stress and needs some time to heal. I managed to staunch the flow of blood reasonably quickly, and he hadn’t been without food and liquid for long—assuming he generally eats regularly—so he didn’t get emaciated. But he just looks so… thin.
How am I going to get him to get healthier when I have to feed him this stuff that has very little fat?
I watch him for a long time before turning off the light next to the bed. Like a creep, I watch him in the shadows for a while longer. But I can’t help it. My fingers itch to touch his cheek. His soft skin. He’s pretty.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I step out of the bedroom before I answer it.
“How did the operation go yesterday?” Arath, my brother, asks.
I pause in the living room, looking into the dark night. It’s not entirely dark since I’m right on the outskirts of Anaheim, and the light pollution is a huge problem, but the sun is down completely, leaving the moon to cast her enchanting glow across the world.
Yesterday. Has it only been a day? Just over twenty-four hours? “I don’t know,” I admit.
He doesn’t respond right away. “What do you mean?”
“There was a guy, and he’d been shot,” I explain. “I… took him away from the scene.”
“To the hospital. And you didn’t return? You haven’t checked in?”
He’s right to be surprised, and maybe a little irritated. I didn’t check in! Fucking hell, have I become that distracted?
“I didn’t,” I answer.
Arath doesn’t speak for another minute. “Why?”
Simple question. Why? “I brought him home. He was hurt and needed medical attention, or he’d lose his leg.”
I can tell by the continued pauses that my brother isn’t entirely sure what to make of me or what I’m telling him. After another beat passes, he asks, “Why did you bring him home? If he was that injured, you should have taken him to the hospital.”
“I don’t have a reason I can give you,” I say, sighing. “I don’t know.”
And again, another beat. “I see. Is he stable?”
“Yes.”
“Who is he?”
I pause to think about it and then laugh. “I didn’t ask him his name, I guess.”
Arath chuckles. “Oxley,” he sighs. I can see him shaking his head. Arath has always been patient with me. More so than most people. Even when he gets frustrated, it’s never expressed in a way that hurts me. Doesn’t matter if it’s just a ‘quirk’ or something like this, he’s always so patient and understanding. I’ve appreciated that over the years.
Though admittedly, I don’t think I’ve abandoned my team and gone silent before. And I definitely haven’t ever brought a stranger home.
“How long will you be out?” Arath asks.
I chew the inside of my lip. “I don’t know. He can’t walk yet. I can’t leave him if he can’t walk.”
Anyone else would point out that I should bring him to the hospital, where he belongs. Arath doesn’t. Instead, he says, “Keep me posted. I’ll send you more tracking reports if you feel you can concentrate on them.”
